
V 




o^ ^p 

^ . 


A^ 

•is’^ '’ 

V'^ > ^ ^ <^/iyj^ > V ^ 

■> . (A (O it . * ^ O k; 0 ^ 

,\ s ’ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

_ rfjpvw;^ 



^ a V 0 ^ 

.O'^ , 't ^ 0 


XV 



.j -V - 

^ o V •' « I?; >-; -!. 

^ ,0^ ^ ^ 0 , . ,A 


'V -fe ^v/ 

S ' * 6 S 

>? ^ o «. ^ ■ 'y 

^ J0 ^ A 

IV 




xV 

t/* <\> 




. o. 

✓ 

'. '"b o'* 

' cc^ -nt- 

•f lo" y ^ 

*' <{■'*'' ., % <’■,.<> 

«v'«^ .Ay 0-. ,-0^ 


C 3 ^ ^ 

v^ A n \^' 



r\v 




\ 


^ ov"^' '^' ■» 

<* ^ 0 ..'*' ,<\ 

'"^ “■ ^ ” j? 'X^ 0 ^ c *j * * 

' ' v'^ 


.^'^^' 'V 


- 0 ^ 



a * 
•:> . 0 * 



O 1. o t' w ^ ^\vvC:s^ 

^ ss ^ ^ V" " ^ " " V 

r r o. .^KW^ -. ^ 




"%*. Cl‘^> 


^ 0 

% 0 ^\o“' 




'X 


V ‘^> 
^V <A 


,V 'Z^- 



^ ^ « ,./.v 'X 

.■■'= •^. °.‘‘{/Ji|L>- - ... 

•.'•?» A-i* c ° ’"■ ♦ ”^0 



. \ \ ^ ^ r 

V» s ^ ' 






( 


N 





ko’',o-’ ^,^''»r,\»'\#' 

^ <e s^ ^ ^ ^ 



a\ ^ 0 n 0 ^ ' 7 - 

v’^ X' 


* « 



.< 3 ^ ® 

■fe 

;>! - - 

Vf ^ 





o ^ 

JJiW ^ 

\ 

o ^ ti . 

'" \ 

® ' 

■ O 




aV/ 






4 - 










% 









I 


i 


r 







4 







» 


I 











The Boat Kace. Page 49. 



IN THE WORLD 


By MARY Gt^DARLING. 




A SEQUEL TO 


BATTLES AT HOMET 



BOSTON : 

HORACE B. FULLER, 

14 Bromfield Street. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the j ear 1871, 

• bt hokace b. fuller, 

In the OfBce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 




Stereotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, 
No. 19 Spring Lane. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

Pagr 

Arthur’s Class-day. 9 

CHAPTER II. 

The Road begins to fork 26 

CHAPTER III. 

Study Talk and College Races. .... 38 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Cat out of the Bag 57 

CHAPTER V. 

A Loophole opens for Geoffrey. . . . .71 

CHAPTER VI. 

Lillie’s Debut. 88 

5 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

At Harvard and at Home. ...... 99 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A liOOK AT Lillie’s Life. . . . . . .112 


• CHAPTER IX. 

Too MANY Cooks spoil the Broth 135 


CHAPTER X. 

More Birds of Passage. ...... 159 


CHAPTER XI. 

Peeps behind the Curtain 183 


Eire ! Eire ! 


CHAPTER XII. 


204 


CHAPTER XIII. 

On Land 213 

CHAPTERXIV. 

Erom over the Sea 229 

CHAPTER XV. 


A Soldier and a Hero. 


. 211 


CONTENTS. 


7 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Arthur stands on his own Feet at last. . . , 248 

CHAPTER XVll. 

Lillie in a new Light 269 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Homeward Bound 286 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Last Looks. ......... 296 

CHAPTER’ XX. 


All about it. 


. 310 


iOjao’ff aiiT ’41 





.1 5i3'n/.ir3 


'T Jir:l V/ji/ > = 


^VAa 8'ii jnTaA 


-j 


.a if.’t'ls m 'jpfHtdmd) yely fe?..'.,l^'\ " V 

e VjM 

i*tl^ .Wffl IIk Ut . 

1<> »£io ^.vf i.-— 'Hi ^-^uS 'J 

flte f)f»otre?V. riifa aniilt I»«d 

ll*' ', - . ‘ " --v 

••ivjfxt ii jttlW $V>x> 
f>;?jC r^iU yu?m tf-^^od luitl 
^ bii/y '0f^^£\^ tf-jnui t>:«ng 

;,, ^Swi^VfJk 00 r<«*s •t‘vvoti^f bli.^fv// ^•'^''4^4 { 4 rlA.'* 

riijfj f’W.' ’^’i7«b HiTijIOyg 
I;, fc;V . '' ^ isjiH ^/ti l/^ ,.tu« 'f4rr fen>«,” > ' S 


i®: ^8i6?i4 , , r ’ 1 . ■ 

fiins/.-pa^ .ao/t r. bvcHidA. 


t • '’epHiita s>^Jlf y — 


IN THE WORLD. 




CH.^TER I, 


ARTHUR S CLASS DAY, 



LASS day at Cambridge is always rainy.” 


\y So runs the saying; but there are ex- 
ceptions to all rules, and surely this particular 
Class day, 18 — , was one of them. 

Never had June sun streamed down on green 
trees with a more golden light than to-day ; 
never had sky been more blue and cloudless, 
or grass more velvety and verdant. 

"Ah! I knew it would never rain on Arthur*s 
Class day ! ” cried Lillie Stanley, gleefully. 

"And why not. Miss Puss?” asked old Mr. 
Osborne, amused at her beaming face and dan- 
cing eyes — " all one smile,” as he said. 


10 


IN THE WOULD. 


"O, because Arthur always is so lucky, or — 
well, grandpapa, at any rate, things always do 
go just right with hiiu.” 

"I don’t know about that,” said grandpapa, 
half discontentedly. did fancy Arthur would 
have given us a chance to hear him speak at 
the church. Why, I looked to see him orator, 
or poet, at the least.” 

"And so he might have been if he’d tried,” 
Lillie rejoined. 

"Just what I say,” grumbled Mr. Osborne. 

" O, never mind, grandpapa ! ” cried Miss 
Lillie, her delight at sight of the students pour- 
ing from the church quite depriving her of 
powers of discussion. "Bob or Jimmie will do 
that. Arthur’s chief marshal, and that’s some- 
thing — isn’t it? Only see how handsome ho 
looks ! And there’s my Bob I O,” with a 
bound of ecstasy, "I am proud of my brothers ! ” 

Grandpapa, his good-humor restored by a 
hearty laugh at his little granddaughter, looked, 
and owned that Arthur, with baton and rib- 
bons, was a goodly sight. 

All our old friends are gathered in a window 
of Hoi worthy this bright June morning, and 


AKTIlUU’S CLASS DAY. 


11 


■while they await the return of the crowd from 
the church, we shall have time to look about 
us, and take up old acquaintances where we left 
them. 

Six years do make a difference, certainly, at 
least in little people; so, though Mr. and Mrs. 
Stanley are scarcely changed, and grandpapa’s 
white locks are no more silvery than when wo 
saw him last, little Lillie has shot up into a 
damsel of eleven, with dignity befitting her years. 
Jimmie’s pale face and great dark eyes are as 
noticeable at fifteen as at nine, and six years 
have made little change in his thoughtful, gen- 
tle expression ; but who is this young giant be- 
side him? — a stalwart, broad-shouldered young 
fellow, who overtops Mr. Stanley by half a head, 
and looks as if he could easily carry Jimmie 
with one arm, — can that be little Geoffrey? 
Certainly those are Geoffrey’s dancing blue eyes, 
curly light hair, and roguish smile ; but these arc 
all six years have left us of the Geoffrey we 
once knew. Here is Colonel Guy Dalton in cit- 
izen’s dress, and Mrs. Sue, a happy-looking, rosy- 
checked matron; and here is a little fellow of 
four years, with whom we have no previous 


12 


IN THE WORLD. 


acquaintance. Here is — but now from the 
church streams a crowd of Class-day guests has- 
tening to the spreads. The smooth gravel-walks 
and velvety grass-plats suddenly bloom with such 
abundance -of summer bonnets and light dresses 
that the sober college grounds look like a gay 
old-fashioned garden. Clearly, Class day is be- 
"innino: ! 

"Lift me up, cousin Geoffrey!” says, imperi- 
ously, the small four-year-old just referred to, 
and, from the height of Geoffrey’s shoulder, pro- 
ceeds to make observation on the crowd below. 

And now come hurrying in two young men, 
in whom it is not hard to recognize our old 
friends Arthur and Bob. This is Arthur, tall, 
slender, and handsome, with just the same air 
of easy self-possession that marked him as a boy 
— just the same pleasant, cordial voice and smile, 
and just the same care of his personal appearance. 
Faultless clothes, spotless kids, and a rose in 
his button-hole — "All so fine!” his little sister 
laughingly exclaimed, as he came up to them. 

Bob is more changed. He has the same 
honest eyes, merry smile, and hearty manner ; 
but the eyes have more of the earnest look that 


ARTHUR’S CLASS DAY. 


13 


sometimes flashed from them in old days, the 
smile has something more than mere ^ood-na- 
ture in it, and the tone and manner, just as 
frank as ever, have grown less blunt and abrupt. 
It is plain, at the first glance, that Bob will 
never be a " lady’s man,” or a ” society fellow ; ” 
but something has tempered his old roughness 
with just the softness it needed. 

Nothing could be more warm than the greet- 
ing of both boys to the home party, and, at 
Arthur’s welcome, Mr. Osborne’s vexation over 
the failure of his high hopes in regard to his 
grandson’s college honors faded away. (Anger 
was always so short a madness with grandpapa 
where Arthur was concerned !) But long after 
Arthur was engaged in giving graceful greetings 
to each of the arriving guests. Bob was still 
chatting away, in his boyish fashion, with the 
home party, romping with his namesake, Robin, 
laughing with his little sister, or talking with 
Guy. 

The room was all alive now with the chatter 
of tongues, and the clatter of knives and forks. 
Pretty girls, attentive young men, matrons stout 
and smiling, papas bland or dignified, negro 


14 


IN THE WORLD. 


waiters staggering under the weight of their huge 
trays; flowers, fans, muslins, and laces, — who 
does not know the atmosphere of Class day ! Ices 
melted away like snow before the sun, stacks of 
salad and oysters vanished and left no sign, door- 
ways and corners were filled to overflowing, and 
still in poured the guests. 

But all throus-h Arthur’s welcoming words for 
those who had come, he seemed to be watching 
the door as if for some one who had not ; and 
all through Bob’s merry chat with the family 
party in the corner, he had an eye for that door 
too. In one of these casual glances he chanced 
to encounter the eyes of his little sister, which 
twinkled mischievously, as if to say, ” I see ! ” 
Bob did not ask what the mischief in them 
meant, but privately determined to read Miss 
Lillie a lecture on the important lesson that little 
girls should not see, but be seen. 

And now at the door appeared at last a very 
pretty girl, with fair hair, blue eyes, and a face 
so made up of rose-buds and sunshine that it is 
no wonder all eyes turned to look at her ; and 
if she seemed to know this fact, a little too well 
herself, why, all roses have their thorns, we 


Arthur’s class day. 


15 


know, and Lillie Dalton was no more perfect at 
eighteen than at twelve. 

At her entrance there was a general movement, 
as if she had been the one expected. Arthur 
dropped a sentence in the middle, and sprang 
to welcome Miss Lillie and her chaperone. Bob 
started forward without waiting to hear Lillie 
Stanley’s "There she is ! ” Grandpapa exclaimed, 
" There’s my pet ! ” Guy and Sue, "There’s our 
Lillie at last ! ” and Miss Lillie was surrounded 
in a minute. There was quite a Babel of tongues 
— " Why didn’t you get here before?” "We ex- 
pected you yesterday evening ; ” " How late you 
are ! ” 

"And was it not vexatious to miss the Pieri- 
an?” Lillie replied; "but it couldn’t be helped. 
Aunt Bella always misses trains on purpose, I 
do believe — don’t you, aunty? But never mind; 
I found plenty of welcomes all ready for me ; ” 
and with sparkling eyes Lillie looked over the 
top of her bouquet at Arthur. 

'"Those are Arthur's flowers, Lillie,” said Lillie 
Stanley ; " why don’t you carry Bob’s ? ” 

"Because I’ve only got two hands, my dear,” 
said Lillie, a little sharply; "don’t you see the 


16 


IN THE WORLD. 


other bouquet on my wrist? Of course I had 
to carry the chief marshal’s to-day — and such a 
chief marshal too I ” 

Miss Lillie raised her hands in mock admira- 
tion of Arthur’s badge and ribbons, and the next 
moment was frolicking with her little nephew, 
with perfect disregard of her dainty toilet and 
of her aunt’s adjurations to have regard for her 
appearance. It cannot be denied that Lillie Dal- 
ton had grown in six years into a very charm- 
ing girl, with a face that almost made one" forget 
to look any farther. I do not mean that there 
was nothing more behind it ; but beauty has its 
drawbacks even for its possessors, and those 
half years that Lillie still spent in New York 
were dangerous times for the little maiden. It 
was a good thing that summer brought her back 
to Lakeville, and gave her Guy’s grave impartial- 
ity and Sue’s steady good sense for daily compan- 
ions. Just now, however, they were as eager 
in attention to Lillie as any one could have been, 
for a sunny face is a key that unlocks every 
heart, and Lillie’s face this morning was as full 
of sunshine as the cloudless June sky. 

”And so I missed nothing at the church by 


Arthur’s class day. 


17 


being so late,” she said to Arthur, and you 
were not orator, after all?” 

” I left that to my successor,” said Arthur, 
good-naturedly. ^'Bob will do that for you.” 

"O, he needn’t,” she returned, with a vehement 
shake of her head. ” A class orator has nothingf 
to thank for it but popularity, after all ; besides, 
1 don’t care one bit for college honors, first 
scholar, or anything else.” 

"You wouldn’t say that if Arthur were first 
scholar,” put in the younger Lillie, with great 
asperity ; " but Bob will do it for all you say ! ” 

Everybody laughed, and Geofirey soothingly 
patted his sister’s shoulder; but Lillie Dalton 
said, — 

" That’s right, little Lillie. Stand up for your 
pet brother, and be proud of him ; that’s the 
way I used to do with my brother, and I like 
you for it ; ” a reply which startled Miss Lillie 
so much that she had not a word to answer. 

Everybody who has been to Class day knows 
what it is, and to those who have not, a descrip- 
tion would probably have slight interest ; so why 
should I describe all the spreads, the walks in 
the grounds, the dancing on the green, or the 
2 


18 


IN THE WORLD. 


crowds on the staircases of the old halls? Peo- 
lile met friends and enjoyed themselves, or saw 
only strangers and thought Class day a long day. 
Dresses were torn, and their fair owners sus- 
tained the injury as stoically as one must on 
such occasions. There were cosy little tete-d-tetes 
in the deep old college windows, gay waltzes in 
the crowded hall, and heat and sunshine every- 
where. 

Bob, returning from a long expedition in search 
of Robin (who had given his parents the slip, 
and was finally discovered in Arthur’s deserted 
room, surreptitiously feasting on the remains of 
a chicken salad which had made an impression 
on the young rogue’s memory), strolled into Har- 
vard Hall, where the dancing was going on fast 
and furiously. Having restored the young scape- 
grace to his anxious mother, he looked about for 
other friends, and, as might have been expected, 
quickly espied Lillie Dalton in the midst of the 
dancers. She was like a planet in being sur- 
rounded with satellites, but certainly not in being 
stationary, for one waltz succeeded another so 
rapidly, that Miss Lillie’s roses were materially 
deepened, and had not time to fade. 


Arthur’s class day. 


19 


"Won’t you dance with me, Lillie?” said Bob, 
making his way up to her in one of the few 
minutes when she paused for breath. 

"O, Bob, is it you at last? Where have you 
been all day? I’m sorry; but my card is full, 
and I haven’t a fraction of a waltz for you ; ” and 
off she whirled again. 

Now, Bob was not fond of dancing except with 
a chosen few, and, as he could not have Lillie, 
seemed to find the wall more attractive than the 
dancing-floor. But, as he leaned against it, his 
eye quickly encountered his little sister, sitting 
on one of the high window-sills, with a face so 
comically disconsolate that he could hardly help 
laughing as he made his way up to her. 

"Why, Lilliekin ! what is the matter? Your 
face is as long as the moral law.” 

"O, you dear boy, I am so glad to see you! 
Why, I feel deserted by all my friends.” 

"That’s hard,” said Bob, laughing. "And have 
you had no dancing then?” 

" Only some stupid waltzes with Geoffrey’s 
friends,” the little lady replied, with a shrug of 
her shoulders. "And one doesn’t come to Class 
day to dance with hoys, you know. And Jim- 


20 


IN THE WORLD. 


mie is gone to the Library, or the Hasty Pud- 
ding Rooms, and Geoffrey is off somewhere else, 
so I’ve nobody to speak to.” 

"Well, we’ll speak to each other then,” said 
Bob, laughingly. "Never mind, Lilliekin, you 
won’t always be a wall-flower, I promise you.” 

" No, indeed,” replied the little damsel, with 
spirit. "I mean to have my turn, too, some 
day. But, Bob, you need not laugh at me. I 
heard one of Arthur’s classmates ask him who 
I was, and I am sure he would have asked me 
to dance with him, but just then papa came up, 
and said to me, *Well, how is my little Pussy 
getting along?’ And who could expect any 
Senior to ask me to dance after that?” 

Lillie’s look of mortified dignity was so funny 
that Bob laughed outright. His sister, naturally 
a positive little personage, from being the only 
girl, and the pet of so many brothers, had ac- 
quired an amusing feeling of age, so that her 
words and ways of thinking were often ludi- 
crously in advance of her years. Her tongue, 
too, was a sharp little member, and might one 
day acquire for Miss Lillie a reputation for pert- 
ness, unless its edge wore off with her growth. 


Arthur’s class dat. 


21 


Her brothers, however, very seldom had the 
heart to find fault wdth her in any way, and 
Bob only checked his laugh to say, — 

"Well, Lilliekin, come and dance with me. 
I shall do — shan’t I, though I am only a 
Junior?” 

"And shall I do, though I’m not the right 
Lillie?” said his little sister, archly, as she 
tripped oflf with her tall partner. 

"Won’t Lillie dance with you?” she asked, 
when the music stopped; and she paused, with 
sparkling eyes. 

" CanH^ not said Bob. " She was en- 

gaged a foot deep before I could get to her.” 

"Now, Bob,” said Lillie, vexed, as she always 
was when her favorite brother was supplanted 
in any way, " why do you always let other 
people get before you in what you want to do ? 
If I were you. I’d have asked her before any 
one else had a chance, and have made her dance 
with me all day.” 

" Then I shouldn’t have had a chance to dance 
with you, you know,” said Bob, good-naturedly. 
"Let’s try it again.” 

But now Harvard Hall was cleared of the dan- 


22 


IN THE WORLD. 


cers, the marshals were seen running hither and 
thither, baton in hand, there was a mysterious 
dealing out of tickets, a stampede of some guests 
to favored windows, a rush of others to a por- 
tion of the grounds where pompous policemen, 
with many mandates to the impatient crowd, 
were enclosing a space around a certain elm 
tree. 

”Now you’re going to see them dance round 
the tree, Robin,” said Colonel Dalton to the 
inquisitive little sprite perched on his shoul- 
der. 

There come the classes in scarecrow array — 
old coats, battered hats, a band of tatterdemal- 
ions in readiness for the rough-and-tumble fray 
which is a time-honored 

“Way they have at Old Harvard!” 

Whether the Freshmen broke through the ranks 
of the Sophomores, or vice versa, is not a mat- 
ter of vital importance ; a more interesting mo- 
ment was it when, crowding round the tree, they 
leaped to snatch the flowers wreathed round its 
gnarly trunk. Here one deliberately measures 
the distance with his eye, runs and leaps ; in 


Arthur’s class day. 


23 


vain ; he* is borne down by the struggling crowd. 
Another, more impetuous, springs upon the shoul- 
ders of his fellows. 

^'Hurrah!” cries Geoffrey. " Arthur’s got the 
first flowers ! ” 

'• Arthur always will,” said Jimmie, smiling. 

Handfuls of the fragrant blossoms now strew 
the ground, or are seized as trophies of the van- 
ished Class day, so long to be remembered in 
after years. They close again round the tree, 
and through the air ring the united voices, fresh 
and strong, in vociferous cheers for the President, 
the ofiicers of the day, and each class in turn. 
A pause, and then the voices join again in the 
Class-day song : — 

Four years have passed since first we met 
As strangers in this place; 

Four years have passed — we meet again 
As brothers, face to fiice. 

And hand to hand, and heart to heart, ■ 

We stand here, side by side. 

Once more united, ere we part, ^ 

In friendship, true and tried. 

Chorus. — We own our pleasure’s dashed with pain. 

That Alma Mater ne’er again 


24 


IN THE WORLD. 


Shall hold us ’neath her sway; 

We feel our college joys are past, 

We know this meeting is the last — 

Yet we celebrate the day; 

And ringing shouts from each classmate 
Shall swell the clieers for — 

”Aulc] Lang Syne” is, as every one knows, 
the breaking up of Class day, and after that the 
crowd separate for rest, refreshment, and prep- 
arations for evening strolls, illuminations, the 
singing of the Glee Club, and the President’s 
Levee. 

“ Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And days of Auld Lang Syne?” 

As the members of the class rushed through 
the ranks, exchanging fraternal ”bear’s-hugs” wdth 
their fellows, — a sight, which, despite its ludi- 
crousness, has its pathetic side too, — Jimmie 
squeezed his twin’s arm, exclaiming, while his 
cheek glowed, — 

"O, Jeff, don’t you wish our college days were 
here ? And only think how soon they will be ! ” 

Strange to say, Geoffrey did not answer with 
his usual merry voice; indeed, he actually sighed 
as he gave some monosyllabic answer. 


Arthur’s class day. 


25 


And now the college grounds are quiet and 
empty, the streets filled with returning crowds 
and the rumble of carriage wheels. Soon the 
streets, too, are deserted ; the golden sun has 
gone down in the glowing west ; another Class 
day is over, and the Class of 18 — are out in 
the world ! 


26 


JN THE WORLD. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE ROAD BEGINS TO FORK. 


" T is no use ; I can’t stand it a moment 



JL longer ! ” and with these words Geoffrey 
closed his Lexicon with a sounding thump, and 
pushed his chair back from the table at which he 


and his twin had been studying. 


" What is it, Geoffrey ? The Latin ? ” 

"Bother the Latin!” said Geoffrey, clenching 
his hands in his curls; "but that isn’t what I 
mean just now. Look here, Jim;” and Geof- 
frey, leaning forward, rested his elbows on the 
table, and stared at his twin with all his eyes. 
" What I can’t stand any longer is this ; I can’t 
stand being a selfish brute, trying to do what 
Nature never meant me for, and preventing you 
from doing what she did — there I ” 

" What do you mean, Jefi:' ?” 

And Jimmie looked up quickly, his lip trem- 
bling even as he asked the question. 


THE ROAD BEGINS TO FORK. 


27 


” Just this, Jimmie. It is of no more use for 
me to try to get into college next year than it 
would be this year. I couldn’t do it if you were 
to coach me steadily all the time between. And 
then, why should I go, particularly? Is there 
nothing else a man can do ? And must he go push- 
ing himself into places where he will do himself 
no credit, simply because other people can?” 

"But, Geoffrey,” said Jimmie, interrupting the 
tide of excited eloquence, " we were to go to- 
gether, you know ; we are always to be together. 
I am sure you would be ready by a year from 
now, if you would only think so.” 

Geoffrey rose, and came and leaned on the 
back of Jimmie’s chair. 

"Jim, dear,” said he, — and his boyish, laughing 
face grew quite grave and manly as he spoke, — 
" I know you don’t think me very wise, — and you 
are perfectly right, — but I’ve come to this con- 
clusion all the same. It is no use for people 
to try to do things for which they are not fitted. 
I’m a very fine fellow in some places,” — the smiles 
breaking out again, — " but college wouldn’t hap- 
pen to be one of them. You know how it is ; 
I’ve got all the size, and you all the sense. So, 


28 


IN THE WOELD. 


after a great deal of thinking about it, I have 
decided that I won’t try to go to college at all. 
You won’t mind — will you?” 

Jimmie sat quite still, wdth his head on his 
hand. I don’t know that he said to himself just 
the words, ^*The time has come, then, for us to 
go different ways ; ” but that was the thought in 
his mind. 

” You don’t mind, old fellow — do you?” Geof- 
frey repeated ; and as Jimmie raised his head, 
the laughing blue eyes that met his, had just the 
April look they had had in Geoffrey’s childhood. 
”You know we can be friends all the same, even 
if we’re not always together.” 

Then Jimmie just opened his arms, and took 
in Geoffrey’s curly head — in itself a most elo- 
quent answer. 

" And now,” went on Geoffrey, cheerily, " I 
will tell you what it is. I want you to try for the 
college examination next week.” 

” O, no, Jeff! I couldn’t go right off now, Tvhen 
I’ve always thought of going with you. Besides, 
I scarcely think I’m ready.” 

Nonsense I ” said Geoffrey, with a most em- 
phatic nod of his head, and blow on the study- 


THE KOAD BEGINS TO FORK. 


29 


table. "If Charley Osborne is ready at sixteen, 
don’t tell me you can’t go at fifteen. Now con- 
fess, Jim ; you want to go right off more than 
anything else in the world, and were only anxious 
to wait till next year on my account.” 

AVith Geoffrey’s honest, blue eyes so close to 
his, how could Jimmie do otherwise than con- 
fess ? 

" Hurrah ! ” cried Geofirey. " Then it’s all set- 
tled, and I’ve relieved my mind. You and Char- 
ley Osborne will be chums, and he’ll look after 
you just as I should.” 

"And you, Geoffrey? What are you going to 
do yourself ? ” 

"Time will show,” replied Geoffrey, with a 
sage shake of the head. 


"And so,” said cousin Jack, "Geoffrey has 
actually kicked out of the traces — has he? The 
giant and the dwarf are not going to pull together 
any longer, I hear.” 

Cousin Jack’s arm-chair is wheeled into the 
bay-window at Lakeside Hill, where, indeed, 


30 


IN THE WORLD. 


most of our friends seem to be gathered this 
summer evening. 

And how has it hired with this brave young 
soldier of ours during the past six years? Did 
his own strong will give him back his physical 
stren£:th, and could he strike one more blow for 
freedom? That empty sleeve can tell the story 
without my words ; yet why should I add any 
words of pity for its wearer? A true hero needs 
no commiseration, and Jack’s brave spirit made 
him one. He needed no wounds to give him 
glory, no pity for his wounds when received. 
” A mere wreck ! ” does some one say, looking at 
the hanging sleeve, the limping walk, the face 
pale and thin, and often drawn with pain? Now, 
only look at his eyes, so bright, and full of life 
aud love. Is that the Expression of a miserable 
man, a burden to himself and every one else? 
No one in the world, not one of the party, but 
would cry out at the idea. That arm-chair is 
ever the centre of the group,, and cousin Jack’s 
words, as in old times, so light above, so solid 
underneath, are very oracles with every one of 
the cousins. 1 do not mean that there had not 
been times when the young man, crippled at the 


THE ROAD BEGINS TO FORK. 


31 


very beginning of his life, maimed in limb and 
shattered in health, had not asked himself, bit- 
terly, this very question : — 

” Of what use am I in this world ? A mere 
burden, and to be a mere burden all my life ! ” 
But cousin Jack was, above all, a true hero in 
this : he could live down his own private suffer- 
ing by himself, and never need to seek a confidant 
for his complaints outside his own breast. 

To Fanny, Jack was simply all the world. 
From the time when he was brought home for the 
second time from the war she had devoted her- 
self to him, supplying all his missing faculties, 
and never leaving his side. ^'It will be so all her 
life,” she says. 

But I am forgetting that nobody has answered 
Jack’s question. • 

"Geoffrey,” says Mr. Stanley, smiling, "has 
discovered that it is only fitting for people to do 
that for wdiich they are fitted, and a college career 
is not, he deems, his vocation.” 

"For it is 'beautiful’ only to do the thing we are 
meant for,” hummed Jack. 

"Uncle Arthur,” said Fanny, impetuously, 
"what are girls meant for?” 


32 


IN THE WORLD. 


" Why, Funny ! ” exclaimed Lillie Dalton ; " one 
would think you wished the whole tribe of girls 
out of existence. You’re not going to be one 
of the dreadful strong-minded women — are you? 
That’s the way they always begin. I’m sure I 
know what /’m. meant for.” 

"What is a girl meant for?” repeated Mr. 
Arthur. "To look pretty, be admired, enjoy 
life, and finally, like the virtuous heroines in story- 
books, bestow her hand on some deserving young 
man, and be happy ever after.” 

" Now, Arthur,” said Fanny, with great de- 
cision, "if you cannot give a better opinion than 
that (which hasn’t even the merit of originality), 
I advise you not to offer any. I shall disappoint 
you in all those predictions.” 

"Fanny,” said her brother, softly pressing her 
arm, which rested on his chair, "has no hand 
to bestow. She has made over her right hand to 
her brother, and she thinks she is entitled to 
keep the left in her own possession.” 

"That comes nearer the truth. Jack,” said his 
sister, smiling at him brightly. "But, uncle 
Arthur, you have given me no answer, and I am 


THE ROAD BEGINS TO FORK. 


33 


in earnest. What are girls good for in the world, 
as they live nowadays ? ” 

" Come to my study some time, Fanny, and Pll 
tell you,” said Mr. Stanley, who saw that Fanny 
was too much in earnest for the rest of the group, 
and sjmipathized with the feeling which he knew 
was working in her girl heart too fully to wish 
that she should do it injustice by speaking of it 
then and there. 

”But to return to Geoffrey,” said Jack, help- 
ing out Mr. Stanley’s purpose; ”what is the boy 
going to do with himself, now that he has begged 
off from college?” 

" I don’t think he is quite ready to say, as yet,” 
replied Mr. Stanley ; " so I leave him to himself 
for a little while longer, sure that he will work 
out his loophole in the world in good time. 
There is a good deal of wisdom in Geoffrey’s 
giddy pate, after all.” 

"Speaking of * giddy pates,’ said Jack, "only 
think of our Charley a would-be Freshman I 
Well, I anticipate much benefit for Charley from 
the hazing of some well-meaning Soph ! I won- 
der, by the way, how the boys are getting on ; is 
it not almost time for them to be here? They 
3 


34 


IN THE WORLD. 


should not be late when anxiety for their welfare 
has brought all the family together.” 

” What a responsibility one’s brothers are ! ” 
said Lillie the Less, with a very grown-up air. 
” I’m sure I couldn’t stand the suspense of having 
another brother examined.” 

”Dear me, little Miss Lexicon!” said Jack, 
laughing. "You’re not getting up any fears on 
Jimmie’s account — are you? He’s sure to pass 
all right.” 

"Still it is an anxious time,” said Mr. Stanley. 
"GeolFrey’s been running between Boston and 
Cambridge for the last two days, hanging round 
Harvard Hall, and bringing early and late bulle- 
tins with as much diligence as if some important 
battle W'Cre going on. I do believe the boy feels 
as if the examination were his own, after all, for 
he talks about ^ our papers,’ and ^ our examiners,’ 
and really seems more nervous than Jimmie 
himself.” 

The library at Lakeside Hill is less changed 
than its inmates : except for the scattered blocks 
and toy-wagons on the floor, testifying to the 
presence of Master Robin even while he sleeps, 
it might be the room of half a dozen years ago. 


THE EOAD BEGINS TO FORK. 


35 


Mr. Osborne sits in his great crimson arm-chair, 
resting his head on his hand, just as he used, and 
watching the bright little handful of fire, which 
he will have, even on a summer evening, crac- 
kling on the hearth. The tables and book-cases 
look at us as if to say, ” How are you, old friend ? ” 
Sue sits with her work just as she sat when we 
first saw her, and Guy is never out of place at 
Lakeside Hill. And yet there is a change, too, 
in the dear old room : that arm-chair, on the 
other side of the fire, is empty now, and Mr. 
Osborne’s eyes often wander from the flickering 
flame to that seat, as if he missed something. In 
these years that are gone, grandmamma has quietly 
slipped out of the home of which she made so 
large a part, and, as it often happens in such 
cases, each one finds out that he never knew what 
the kindly voice and loving presence were, till 
they are vanished forever. It was because grand- 
papa found his old, happy home so grievously 
changed, with only the empty chair in the other 
chimney-corner, that Guy and Sue consented to 
give up their own new little home, and come to 
make one for grandpapa at Lakeside Hill. So 
Sue’s bright face shines through the house all 


36 


IN THE WORLD. 


day, Kobiii’s fresh little pipe sings up stairs and 
down, and Guy is always at hand when there is 
any question of care or responsibility. But none 
of these can quite make up to the old man for the 
face he misses. 

Lakeside Hill is always the rendezvous when 
any matter of general interest is on the carpet ; 
and who does not know the general anxiety and 
suspense when a college examination is pending? 
What fearful possibilities harass all minds, and 
make breakfast, dinner, and tea a burden ! What 
ambition fires the soul of partial mothers and sis- 
ters 1 What eagerness that their darling should 
— not do himself justice (there is no question of 
that ') — but he done justice to! What unsettled 
days, and disturbed dreams ! What longings for 
it to be all over ! 

" Here come Gulliver and the Lilliput,” an- 
nounced cousin Jack at last, ”with Charley bring- 
ing up the rear.” 

All flew to the window as if the three boys 
were an unparalleled spectacle ; but, at sight of 
the approaching trio, all fears took flight. Geof- 
frey led the van, triumph beaming in his face 
and dimpling his cheeks. At sight of the party 


THE ROA.D BEGINS TO FORK. 


37 


in the window he waved his hat, and broke into 
an exulting — 

“See the conquering heroes come!’* 

”What news?” cried Lillie, leaning from the 
window. 

"Hurrah!” cried Geoffrey, bursting into the 
room. "None better! Jimmie is through, scot- 
free; Charley has a mere nothing of a condition. 
I couldn’t have done better myself, if I had been 
there ! ” 

Everybody laughed at this astonishing avowal. 
Jimmie glowed all over his pale face, while his 
twin and Charley ran on with flaming accounts 
of his prowess in the examination-room; though, 
true to himself, h-is happiness was shown in very 
quiet fashion. Not so with the others ; for the 
home fireside is a place where even easy victories 
gain gigantic dimensions, and this evening was 
a jubilant one. 


38 


IN THE WORLD. 


CHAPTER HI. 


STUDY TALK AND COLLEGE RACES. 

HERE was one room in the plain little Bos- 



JL ton house, where the Stanleys lived, which 
belonged to every one, and where every one felt 
at home ; and this, too, was a room which was 
supposed to be Mr. Stanley’s peculiar property — 
his study. Was there a difficulty to be got out 
of, or a decision to be made, the study was the 
place of all others to solve the problem. Had 
this one a happiness that wanted a confidant, or 
that one a sorrow that needed sympathy, uncle 
Arthur’s study could furnish all that was wanted. 
Countless were the heartaches that had found a 
cure in that shabby little room ; and if Mr. Stan- 
ley were asked how he found time for so many 
hearings, he always answered, smiling, ” There 
is time for any one who comes to me.” 

One rainy afternoon, then, Mr. Stanley was 


STUDY TALK AND COLLEGE RACES. 


39 


sitting in this room, busy with books and papers, 
when at the door w^as heard one of the knocks 
he never called " interruptions.” His Come 
in ” was like a welcome beforehand, and the door 
was quickly opened by Fanny Osborne. 

”rve come to you, uncle Arthur — ” she be- 
gan, in her usual impetuous fashion, not even 
stopping to take off the water-proof, on which 
the summer rain-drops lay glistening. 

see you have come,” said he, smiling; "but 
I am not going to run away ; so why not take off 
your cloak, and sit down?” 

Fanny laughed, and throwing off the wet gar- 
ment, drew a footstool close to the study-chair, 
and looked up with a face which w'as brighter 
for the little delay. 

"And now,” said Mr. Stanley, "you have come 
to me.” 

"Yes,” said Fanny ; "and because — uncle Ar- 
thur, I w^ant something to do.” 

" So does every one,” said Mr. Stanley ; " but, 
Fanny, you have plenty of energy, and plenty 
of occupation ; why have you any reason to com- 
plain of that want ? ” 

"I want something more,” said Fanny. "Fm 


40 


IN THE WORLD. 


not happy. Uncle Arthur, I want something to 
live for 

Mr. Stanley did not speak; so she went on, 
hurriedly, and with increasing earnestness : — 

" You mustn’t think me selfish, uncle Arthur. 
I know I have Jack, and he’s all the world to 
me. I hope I am something to him. I want 
nothing better than to love him, and be with 
him all my life ; but I want to be more to my- 
self. I want to feel that I am living for some- 
thing, and being something, though I am a girl.” 

"And being everything to Jack is not enough 
for you ? ” 

Fanny shook her head. 

"Not enough to keep me always satisfied and 
happy as I should be with him ; not enough to 
keep me from always wishing and longing for 
something more. O, uncle Arthur, how much 
happier girls would be if they had a definite 
work to do in the world, as boys have I What 
are they good for now ? ” 

"So much, Fanny,” said Mr. Stanley, "that I 
can hardly stop to tell you at this moment. No 
matter now. I think I understand and sympa- 
thize with you perfectly. You mean you would 


STUDY TALK AND COLLEGE RACES. 


41 


like some aim to which to turn your life; some- 
thing to stay with you always — to get up with 
you in the morning, to be with you rainy days, 
and make your thoughts as bright and cheerful 
as if the sun were still shining?” 

” Yes,” said Fanny ; ”what satisfies other girls 
doesn’t seem to satisfy me. I used to find hap- 
piness enough in just what came along — parties, 
visits, pleasant times ; but it isn’t so any longer. 
I want something to fill up the time between, 
I used to think — I suppose all girls do — that 
when I grew up I should marry, and, as Arthur 
and the story books say, live happy ever after. 
But now that I am growTi up, that is all changed. 
I don’t think I ever want to marry. Jack is 
enough for me — besides, I should like to prove 
for once that a girl can be hajppy in some other 
way I ” 

Mr, Stanley laughed. 

"That sounds like Fanny Osborne,” said he. 
"Well, my dear, I honor your feeling, however 
you may express it. I know you want to take 
a real share in life’s work, not sit down and wrap 
up your talents in a napkin because you are not 
a boy.” 


42 


IN THE WORLD. 


" Yes, that is exactly it,” said Fanny, heartily. 

I am well and strong; I am as bright as some 
boys, and have more ambition than most. So 
why should I be a burden all my life, just be- 
cause I happen to be a girl? I really do not 
see why any talent I may possess should run 
to seed for that reason.” 

” Nor I, Fanny,” said Mr. Stanley. So don’t 
look at me as defiantly as if I were your op- 
pressor. I think that a woman’s right to worh is 
something no one should grudge her, whatever 
opinions he may have about women’s rights in 
general.” 

^'And I am sure,” said Fanny, half laughing, 
half crying, "I don’t want to put on blue spec- 
tacles, and be a doctor, or mount up into a pulpit, 
and crack my feeble little pipe against the church 
roof I ” 

” But it is one of the consequences of the 
world’s getting on so slowly,” pursued uncle 
Arthur, ” that women have got to find their 
work for themselves for the next twenty-five 
years to come — not have it ready made for 
them. It is not every one, Fann}^, who can 
leave home to work; that is the place, you 


STUDY TALK AND COLLEGE RACES. 


43 


know, for girls to prove what they are good 
for.” 

”0, uncle Arthur,” said Fanny, half reproach- 
fully, "you don’t think I want to leave home — do 
you? Why, I wouldn’t if I could; and how could 
I, while my dear Jack can’t so much as eat his 
dinner unless I am there to help him ! All I 
want to feel is that my powers are not going to 
sleep, because people might think it odd if I used 
them. All I want is to work at home at wdiat I 
believe it is in me to do.” 

" Then, Fanny,” said uncle Arthur, heartily, 
I can only say to you, 'Whatsoever your hand 
findeth to do, do it with all your might.’ Any- 
body, man, woman, or child, who feels that he 
has had a power given him, and does not use it, 
is very like the man who hid his talent in a nap- 
kin. Go to work, my dear, and God speed you ! ” 

"How much better I always do feel,” Fanny 
said, smiling, as she took up the wet cloak, — 
" how much better I always do feel when I come 
to this dear little room, and tell you just what I 
am thinking about ! I should think you w^ould 
call it your confessional, uncle Arthur, you must 
hear so many secrets here.” 


44 


IN THE WORLD. 


Her uncle smiled ; but, as he helped her put 
on the cloak, he said, more gravely, and in a low 
tone, "You said, Fanny, dear, that you wanted 
something to fill up the time between your pleas- 
ures — you mean the dreary, every day places in 
life. Now, there is but one thing, you know, 
which can do that satisfactorily for you ; all the 
plans and purposes in the world can’t help you 
without it.” 

" I know what it is,” said Fanny, looking up 
with earnest eyes ; " and I do care for it, uncle Ar- 
thur, even when I seem most giddy and thought- 
less. I have poor Jack, and his suffering, and 
his patience to thank for teaching it to me.” 

She shut the door, with a face very quiet and 
bright, and Mr. Stanley went back to the study- 
table, feeling that something had been gained, 
not lost, in the half hour which had slipped away. 


There must surely have been some good reason 
why the family lingered so long at Lakeside Hill 
this summer, when the first heat generally found 
them at Rockedge. There certainly was ; for, 


STUDY TALK AND COLLEGE RACES. 


45 


besides that all-important college examination, 
were not the Worcester races to take place in 
the last week of July, and was not our Bob in 
the boat? 

The first intimation of this great fact Lillie 
derived from a plate of very unsavory-looking 
beefsteak, which was set before Bob the first 
evening they met at table. 

”Are you going to eat that 9^^ she exclaimed, 
repugnance strongly expressed in look and tone. 

Beefsteak and gruel are the chief of my 
diet,’” replied Bob, laughing. 

”He’s stroke of the Harvard,” explained Geof- 
frey, proudly. 

" But is that any reason why he should eat his 
meat uncooked, like a South Sea islander?” 

” I’m training, you know ; ” and after that, it 
seemed to Lillie, all reasons for Bob’s doing things, 
or leaving them undone, were to be ascribed 
to the same general cause. Did he go early to 
bed, rise at break of day, run a mile in the even- 
ing, eschew tea and coffee, look with redoubled 
disfavor on Arthur’s cigars, and disappear at reg- 
ular intervals during the day for purposes of 
"pulling,” — all was to be set down to this com- 


46 


IN THE WORLD. 


prehensive training, till Lillie, tired of hearing 
from the indefatigable Geoffrey of boats and races, 
was ready to pronounce the regatta at Worcester 
a bore before it came off. 

Not so, however, when the day came, with a 
bright sun and plenty of fresh excitement and 
interest to enliven it. Magenta badges must be 
prepared ; all the party, from Guy to little Lillie, 
bedecked therewith, and thus manifesting their 
loyalty to old Harvard at every button-hole, the 
merry cavalcade set forth for Worcester, whither 
Bob and the " boat ” had already repaired on the 
preceding day. 

As the long-drawn-out, heavily-laden train 
reached the station, what a bustling scene met the 
eye ! Drivers of omnibuses shouted in every 
key, major and minor, the words, "To Lake 
Quinsigamond ! Keady for the Lake ! ” while 
people, pouring from the train, piled on the vehi- 
cles till it was a wonder the horses could staijocer' 
under their load. 

"Twenty on top, forty inside, half a dozen 
more on the step,” commented GeolFrey ; " shall 
we get there whole, I wonder?” 

But no mishap had occurred when they reached 


STUDY TALK AND COLLEGE KACES. 


47 


the shore, which was already covered with the 
gay crowd, hurrying to secure their places for the 
approaching show. Long tiers of seats had been 
built up, and the bare boards were speedily blos- 
soming out with every imaginable hue of raiment. 
Magenta and blue ribbons fluttered in the breeze ; 
tongues chattered, and eager eyes were fixed on 
the water, fearful of losing a moment of the race. 
Timid maidens shrieked over their insecure perch, 
absorbed old gentlemen outraged the sensibilities 
of their neighbors by oblivious pokes of the um- 
brellas which must be carried to Worcester races, 
no matter how bright the sun may shine. The 
crowd poured over the fields, till every inch of 
standing room was occupied, and all the multi- 
tude were as one individual in the eagerness with 
which they watched the blue water. 

The boats have started, and already deafening 
shouts of "Harvard ! ’’ " Yale ! Yale ! ” pierce the 
air. How the heart of each one of our little 
party swells with pride as he or she looks at the 
Harvard boat, where sits Bob, shoulders thrown 
back, teeth set, every nerve and muscle strained 
to its utmost tension. He is, of course, the cen- 
tral object ill the landscape to all the Lakeside 


48 


IN THE WORLD. 


Hill party; but are not all the crew like brothers 
for the time being, and is not every motion of 
those forms bending to the oar, every rise and 
fall of the bare, brown arms, watched as if a 
life hung on the oar-blades? With strong pulls 
the boat shoots through the water ; with rapid 
strokes the Yales follow close behind. What I 
are they gaining? or is it only that the distance 
is too great for us to see distinctly? Telescopes 
and opera-glasses sweep the horizon. Quick — 
tell us — which is it? Yale gaining fast — yes, 
actually a fraction in advance ! Groans and 
cheers from the excited crowd mingle confused- 
ly, hearts leap into throats, and Lillie feels a 
wild, unreasoning wrath against her neighbor on 
the bench, a damsel fluttering with blue rib- 
bons at every point, and uttering a treble " Yale I 
Yale ! ” with every breath. The spectators spring 
up from their seats to watch more closely the 
contest; the slightly-built tiers crack beneath 
the strain ; there is a crash, and a downfall, 
and nobody to pick up the wounded ! 

"Yale still in advance!” 

" O, Geoffi’ey, look once more ! ” And Geof- 
frey, towering above the crowd, his ruddy face 


STUDY TALK AND COLLEGE RACES. 49 

actually white with suspense, again reports the 
disheartening tidings. 

Is the victory, then, to be lost? Never, Har- 
vard, never — never while Bob Stanley is in the 
boat ! Suddenly Bob bends to his oars as if 
something gave him double strength, the men 
catch inspiration from his fire, the boat springs 
forward with the impetus, and shoots ahead of 
her rival. The victory is ours — won in glo- 
rious time ; yet what an age it has seemed ! 
" ’Kah ! ’Kah I ’Kah ! ” The monosyllabic Har- 
vard cheers have the field to themselves now, 
and the race is over. 

" What a study of resolution Bob’s face was ! ” 
said Colonel Dalton, laughing, as he put up his 
glass. "If he only puts all that determination 
into his life by and by, he’ll always come out 
first in the race.” 

The crowd had deserted the benches now, and 
were pouring over the fields towards the station. 
Hurry and confusion were the order of the day, 
for, while they had been so absorbed in watch- 
ing the water, the clouds had been gathering 
thick, till the bright sun of the morning was 
veiled in darkness. Low growls of thunder were 


4 


50 


IN THE WORLD. 


heard at intervals, there was a faint flash of 
lightning, and presently, with a sudden rush, 
down pattered the rain-drops fast and pitiless, 
on new and old dresses alike. The crowd scat- 
tered in every direction; some ran one way, 
some another, and our party were widely sun- 
dered. Arthur, the gallant, ofiered one arm to 
Fanny, the other to Lillie, while he unfurled a 
large umbrella over the heads of both. 

”A vote of thanks, General Apropos!” said 
Fanny. "You never more richly deserved your 
name.” 

The rain now descended in sheets, the storm- 
stricken crowd almost ran each other down in 
their eagerness to reach a place of shelter. Fanny 
laughed merrily, from under her water-proof 
hood, at the melSe^ while Lillie, less prudent 
in her preparations, groaned over her drenched 
finery. 

At last they reached their destination. A 
loaded train was just backing into the station. 
Scarcely had it stopped when it was boarded by 
fresh relays of passengers. 

" They need not hurry themselves,” said Ar- 
thur, laughing; "that train is going the wrong 


STUDY TALK AND COLLEGE RACES. 


51 


way. I suppose our train is delayed, and we 
must wait a while patiently.” 

The train whistled off, the station was still 
occupied with impatient and rain-bedrabbled 
waiters, and still the wished-for conveyance 
came not. 

" I do believe,” said Fanny, at last, ” that we’ve 
missed it, after all. Just go and ask, please, 
Arthur, when the next train goes.” 

Arthur went, and returned speedily with a 
long face. 

"That was really the Boston train, after all,” 
he said, with some chagrin. "How could I get 
so turned round in my bearings?” 

" Natural excitement,” said Fanny, good-hu- 
moredly. " And when does the next train go ? ” 

"At half past eleven,” said Arthur, somewhat 
reluctantly. 

Well, there was no help for it, and the trio, 
somewhat crest-fallen, repaired to the hotel to 
pass the intervening time. Arthur was much 
piqued, as people, who pride themselves upon 
their good management, are apt to be when be- 
trayed into stupid mistakes, and Lillie, to tell 
the truth, was somewhat pettish. The little lady 


52 


IN THE WORLD. 


was best suited to fine weather, after all, and 
did not show so sunny a side under the try- 
ing circumstances of wet clothes and a long, 
uncomfortable delay at a crowded hotel. So 
she sat discontentedly at the window, choosing 
to give Arthur rather monosyllabic answers in 
return to his solicitude for her welfare. But 
Fanny’s good temper, like her cloak, was weath- 
er-proof ; and since they must needs be delayed, 
why not make a virtue of necessity, and enjoy 
themselves? Her lively sallies kept the other 
two laughing in spite of their mutual chagrin. 
As evening advanced, Worcester became a very 
tumultuous scene. The gay crowd had, for the 
most part, gone home ; but troops of students 
roamed through the streets, filled the hotel, and 
made the town uproarious with their songs and 
cheers. Lillie even became somewhat alarmed 
as the noisy shouts rose from the dining'-rooin 
below, and real tears of vexation filled her eyes 
when Arthur’s repeated orders for refreshment 
received no response. 

"You see I’m no longer a student, Lillie,” he 
said at last, still as pleasantly as possible, though 
pettishness from other people is not apt to keep 


STUDY TALK AND COLLEGE EACES. 


53 


the temper of vain mortals smooth. ” If Bob were 
only here we should be treated like princes.” 

"I heartily wish he were,” said Lillie, and with- 
drew to her window, in dudgeon. Arthur turned 
to Fanny, with a little shrug, as if to say, "What 
can I do but let her alone ? ” and the little party 
was rapidly becoming an uncomfortable one, when 
who should pass the window but Bob himself in 
the midst of the cheering and becheered crew I 
As fortune chanced, he raised his eyes as he 
passed their window, telegraphed astonishment 
at sight of Lillie’s melancholy visage, and was 
in the room before she had time to report him 
to the others. 

" Why, how in the Tvorld — ” he began ; but 
before he could finish his sentence, he was beset 
with congratulations and exclamations from all 
three. 

"O, Bob, what a triumph for Harvard!” 

" O, Bob, how splendidly you rowed ! ” 

" Was it not a sight 2” said Bob, his face beam- 
ing with satisfaction. "I’m j)roud of our boat — 
but do tell me how you came here.” 

And while Fanny narrated their misfortunes, 
Bob’s face became more radiant every moment. 


54 


IN THE WOKLD. 


” Now, this is very nice!” he said, heartily. 
”ril tell you what I’ll do. I’ll join you, and 
go home. I shall be so glad to get rid of all 
the feasting and riot, and we’ll spend just the 
cosiest two hours up stairs here before that train 
goes I ” 

" But, Bob, you meant to stay,” said Fanny. 

"Never mind; I shall be glad of an excuse. 
Worcester is a disgraceful scene after one of 
the races, and I shall be heartily glad not to be 
here. It is a pity, but nevertheless true, that 
good students and splendid rowers are not al- 
ways gentlemen.” 

Affairs wore a very different aspect now that 
the " stroke ” had joined the party, and the neg- 
ligent waiters became all obsequiousness. Their 
door was besieged with offers of service, the wet 
clothes dried quickly before the bright little fire 
that was so comfortable this damp, chilly 'even- 
ing, and Lillie’s spirits went up many degrees 
in the scale of cheerfulness. For the same rea- 
son that she had treated Arthur with reserve, she 
was all affability to his brother, and Bob was at 
a loss to know whether his own merits or the 
exploits of the crew were to be thanked for 
Lillie’s cordialit}^ 


STUDY TALK AND COLLEGE RACES. 


55 


The two hours flew by quickly, and, when the 
party started for the station, all agreed that the 
delay had been an improvement on the original 
programme. 

” You don’t know how proud we felt of you. 
Bob ! ” said Lillie, in the cars. " Now, as Guy 
says, if you only put as much determination into 
everything, how proud we shall always be ! ” 

" Even if I should try to win the race of schol- 
arship?” said Bob, laughing. 

”Of course,” said Lillie. ”I know you mean 
to do something in college, and I know, too, that 
we shall be proud of you there.” 

”Why, I thought you did not care a bit for 
college honors, Lillie,” said Bob, with a queer 
twinkle in his eyes. 

"You foolish boy,” Miss Lillie returned; "do 
you really believe all I say ? Why, if you should 
be orator or poet, don’t you knovv that I should 
be just as proud of you as Jimmie or little 
Lillie?” 

Bob’s face flushed, as it was apt to do when 
he was extremely pleased ; but he said nothing. 

The home party had, of course, been thrown 
into great anxiety and confusion by the non- 


56 


IN THE WORLD. 


appearance of the two girls ; and knowing, by 
experience, that in cases of family agitation, 
Lakeside Hill was the surest and quickest place 
for communication with the many, the boys 
proceeded thither at once with Lillie and Fanny. 

When Arthur was chief marshal on Class day, 
Lillie wouldn’t speak to Bob,” said little Lillie, 
reflectively, ”and now that Bob^ boat has won 
the race, she won’t even look at Arthur.” 

*'Upon my word, little miss,” said grandpapa, 
who was always greatly amused by his grand- 
daughter’s smart speeches, " your, sagacity is be- 
yond your years. There’s a coat. Miss Lillie, 
all ready to fit people who always go with the 
winning side ! ” 

"Lillie is very wise,” said naughty cousin Jack. 
(He had come to Lakeville to hear the first tid- 
ings of the races.) "She remembers Miss Edge- 
worth’s excellent moral tale, Mt is well to have 
two hows to one’s string 1 ’ ” 

It was not till Lillie’s head was laid on her 
pillow that she became aware of cousin Jack’s 
mischievous perversion of the sage proverb. 


THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 


57 


CHAPTER ly. 

THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 

I THINK you will have learned, by this time, 
without needing my assurance for it, that' 
Lillie Dalton was a capricious little mortal. It 
is certain that none of us are entirely consistent 
(if we were, we should be far on the way to that 
ideal perfection which no mortal ever attains) ; but 
this little lady was such a union of good impulses 
and faulty practices, fits of sweet temper and 
moods of uncertainty, that it was difficult to know 
just where to have her. Her mode of life was, 
doubtless, much to blame for this instability ; for, 
in spite of Guy^s desire that his sister should, 
after his marriage, be constantly with him, Mrs. 
Melville’s house in New York was still Lillie’s 
home for half the year. The truth was, that 
when the time came for the aunt and niece to 
separate, Mrs. Melville, who was reffily fond of 


58 


IN THE WORLD. 


Lillie, begged so earnestly that she might have 
her still sometimes,, and Lillie herself cried so 
heartily at the idea of leaving forever the aunt 
Bella, who had been the only mother she had 
known during her orphaned childhood, that Guy 
had not the heart to part them. 

So the winters and summers of Lillie’s life were 
spent under very different auspices. The good 
impulses took root under Sue’s influence, the 
caprice and waywardness owed their rise to Mrs. 
Melville’s indulgence. But with all the outside 
taint of worldliness and vanity, which was to be 
ascribed to the same source, Lillie had such a lov- 
ing nature of her own, such generous admiration 
for the virtues of her friends, and such honesty 
in confessing her own frailties and short-comings, 
that it is no wonder every one of the Lakeside 
Hill party loved, her, and felt all the attractions 
she possessed so abundantly. 

No two girls could be more different in char- 
acter than Lillie and Fanny Osborne ; and Sue, 
who saw so much of both, was often amused by 
the contrast in their ways of thinking and talking. 

”What are 3^011 dreaming about, Fanny?” she 
said, one summer afternoon, when she and the 


THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 


59 


two girls were paddling lazily about the smooth 
water near the beach at Kocked^e. 

O . 

"Only building air-castles,” said Fanny, with 
a laugh and blush ; " summer is a nice time for 
doing that.” 

" Summer is a good time for thinking about 
what one’s going to do,” said Lillie; "but my 
castles are not so airy as yours, Fanny. They 
will all come true some day ! ” 

"Tell us what they are, Lillie,” said Sue. 

"O, they are all about next winter, when I 
shall 'come out’ in New York. I plan all my 
parties and m3' dresses, and think how I shall 
enjoy being a belle, and making eveiy one fall in 
love with me.” 

Making ever}^ one, Lillie ? ” said Fanny, laugh- 
ing. " You don’t mean you shall set about it delib- 
erately, do you, and try to make people unhappy?” 

"I don’t think I should mind much,” said 
Lillie, with great candor. "I think I should like 
to try a little, to see if I could. I don’t think 
aiy one could be ver}^ unhappy about me!'' 

"Only hear her. Sue!” said Fanny, amused. 
" Doesn’t it sound like the naughty children who 
pull out flies’ wings 'just to see if it hurts’?” 


60 . 


IN THE WORLD. 


"Lillie doesn’t mean all she says,” said Sue, 
more grayely. "I am sure she means to be 
something better than a flirt.” 

"Blit, Sue,” said Lillie, hanging her head a 
little as she made the avowal, " I am afraid I should 
like extremely to try how much I could make peo- 
ple care for me. I do now, sometimes. Is there 
anything very bad about that?” 

" I think you might find something better to 
put in your air-castles, Lillie,” said Sue, in the 
same tone. 

Lillie said no more for a moment, for she had 
the heartiest afiection for Sue, and the warmest 
respect for her opinions ; but she did not like to 
take back her assertions too readily ; so she pres- 
ently went on. 

"I only mean that I want to have a good time 
in life. Sue. I am sure everybody .else does, too, 
if they are only honest enough to say so.” 

"Of course, my dear,” said Sue, "nobody is 
unwilling to be happy ; but there are a great 
many difi’erent kinds of happiness in the world, 
and yours, you would soon find, would not be the 
best sort.” 

Lillie made a little impatient gesture, but said 


THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 


61 


nothing. As they neared the shore, however, 
where the white foam was rolling in, red and 
golden with the reflected colors from the sinking 
sun, Fanny said, mischievously, — 

"Here comes Bob to help us ashore. Shall I 
tell him, Lillie, what you mean to do? I think 
it only fair that people should be warned.” 

"No, don’t!” said Lillie, hastily. "I wouldn’t 
have Bob know I said such a thing for the 
world I ” 

"Why not?” 

"Because I want him to respect me, and he 
wouldn’t — or yes,” added Miss Weathercock, 
veering round in a breath, "tell him, if you 
want to — I don’t care ! ” 

She sprang ashore as the boat touched the 
sand, and ran after Sue, leaving Fanny laughing 
at the sudden change of mind, which she was, 
nevertheless, too kind-hearted to take advan- 
tage of. 

No one had asked Fanny what she put into her 
air-castles ; and yet, as it happened, they were 
growing to be quite solid structures. 

After her talk with uncle Arthur in the study, 
Fanny took fresh courage in her secret purpose, 


62 


IN THE WOELD. 


whatever it might be, aud during those hours 
when she was sure that Jack did not want her, 
and which she had generally spent in amusement 
or exercise, was frequently shut up in her little 
room, doing something very busily ; what it was 
remained a mystery, and the more that nobody 
suspected its existence, (The true way to keep 
a secret, dear friends, is not to let any one sus- 
pect that you have one I) Fanny had always been 
called independent, and allowed to have her time 
at her own disposal, and choose her pursuits for 
herself. So, very possibly, w'hile she was shut 
up in her little room, she was supposed to be 
somewhere else. 

Jack, however, had no such belief. He had 
noticed the unwonted animation and life that had 
dawned in Fanny’s face since her talk with uncle 
Arthur had confirmed her purpose, and now set 
his sharp wits to work to find out the cause for it. 
He had noticed, too, what a strong attraction 
that quiet little room seemed to have for Fanny, — 
a new thing for his lively sister, — and suspected 
that there must be something ” in the wind.” For 
a time he was silent, and only quietly furthered 
her opportunities for solitude by every means in 


THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 


63 


his power, often feigning to prefer to be left alone, 
when in truth Fanny’s merry chat would have 
been most welcome. But he soon became tired 
of such entire disinterestedness, and began to long 
that Fanny would share her secret with him — 
even to feel a little pained that she did not. At 
last he resolved to break the ice himself. 

One evening, then, Fanny, thinking Jack safely 
in bed, had betaken herself to her beloved task 
for one short half hour of bliss before seeking her 
own couch. Secure, as she thought, against in- 
terruption, she had left her door a crack open; 
and while she sat, absorbed, with her back turned 
to the entrance, a tall figure, in dressing-gown 
and slippers, appeared at the crack. He recon- 
noitred carefully, and became aware that Fanny 
was sitting at her desk, scribbling away so fast 
that her pen sounded as if it were skating across 
the paper. He stood for a moment in visible 
surprise and amusement, then softly knocked. 
Fanny was too absorbed to heed the left-handed 
tap, and did not raise her head. So her brother 
noiselessly opened the door, and stole over the 
carpet so softly that she did not hear a footfall, 
and never knew of his approach till she felt a 
hand on her shoulder. 


64 


IN THE WORLD. 


She started, dropped her pen with a slight 
scream, and looked up. Jack was standing be- 
side her, looking at her with a face half merry, 
half reproachful. 

" What I Fanny burning the midnight oil, and 
never consulting her brother about her abstruse 
studies ? ” 

”I was only — only writing a little. Jack,” 
said Fanny, coloring and stammering, as she 
hastily shuffled the papers together. 

”Nay, my dear,” said Jack, putting his hand, 
on hers to stop her, "if I had known I should 
disturb you, I wouldn’t have come in for the 
world. Keep your secret. Fan. I’ll go back to 
bed again, and never remember by to-morrow 
morning that I caught you with a pen in your 
hand.” 

There was something a little sad to Fanny in 
the kindly way in which Jack’s bright eyes looked 
at her as he spoke. They seemed to her to say, 
"Did you want to keep anything from your brother, 
Fanny? Couldn’t you trust me with your secret 
and your interests, and don’t you know how I 
would have made them mine?” 

Her conscience smote her; she dropped the 



Jack and Fanny. — Page G3. 





vf 




"1 


td 


.tOAfi mrr ttjo tao ‘qiift 


t^DjlJonl i[^d oi ann^s *3'">fl \<}o f>I'>f! Bns 

,orr<i.rn£9in fiibilj i' I yfcof) 

j’'a«ifa ifi^T itn ^'ov ji,f»t in'?? P 

mo it 7ac £»7 i*jI i jlniUl 

ban 

^1 Pvfimi't ?>xi) prta oib xid nwob 


jbui? tbfrnii ’J^xf t|y 'loof^s-tib 


.la'gaJt albbun i^ii sin SokJ r. of /bf^tairx'j 

^hiSTJ:Uifn Xt4 e:^il vi8uobiq«Lf!5 4:iooi ^i:dT^? - 

• . ? . .^ ■ V/rtfiJi'J 

aMI !5^£»iq xlgujil fhob ,iI:)};Tt ^ 

I^^:)ai3vsr 1 .©’ii! *’3m I!s </F? Ost L^Jns'w ov^ 

^boii xl.tiT/ I iiSJi ,ob o5 '^rddh/Htri^ 

1 :h^2d^•7^‘B,9^^ lor^n h-'iOE 1 asn h!-^i ad bifZ 
ssiB I' D«‘ I>nf. «hi;» .« I D^An^'^atJ jfrf^iftf- 
silr^T i^Iiio neo.l 11 »0 hf^A \ci6i oh ol 
*'h»(5 ]\s.m 1 ,rnof]l -mnt| bjfiB 

jbawol bed Injjft 1ii©iiw^i320 75*7niiJi'l 

liwb 5 iJ*Iir>i a^ayr ibiil-v o*/rt ni 

,>):>eV3j? f]V^ X«^doo] oxia ah ed-D'Jib'idil 
huB i&d boutn isar. ^jd Hi^q 't ydkrA 

- - . .i^i[)lDO£ia aid jJCi uwb bf'.'k^j nd *93' 


^tjxuD ^fil lodi hfiiml hi^ 'wi) 


il lift ot ^nuiJ*>OTo^} bdJfiir^^ huM, biX 
9W ©dxita biuow Ji ,0 ^up^dl b«« jdaujl, 



THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 


65 


papers, and held out her arms to her brother, 
exclaiming, '' Jack, don’t go ! I didn’t mean to be 
cross. 1 will tell you all about it. You shan’t 
think I have any secrets from you.” 

But when Jack turned immediately, and sat 
down on the arm of the chair, Fanny found it 
hard to begin. Jack took up her right hand, and 
pointed, smiling, to a blot on her middle finger. 

"That looks suspiciously like an authoress, 
Fanny.” 

" O, Jack, don’t laugh at me, please ! It’s 
something I’ve wanted to do all my life. I wanted 
something to do, and I talked with uncle Arthur, 
and he told me I need never lose any talent I 
might have, because I was a girl; and so I am 
trying to do this. And O, if I can only write 
books, and print them, how happy I shall be ! ” 

Fanny’s excitement and incoherence had found 
relief in two large tears, Which were rolling down 
her cheeks as she looked up at Jack. 

Her brother put his arm round her neck, and 
drew her head down on his shoulder. 

"And so the little girl found her life empty — 
did she? and wanted something to fill it up?” 

"Yes, Jack; and then, O, it would make me 

5 


66 


IN THE WORLD. 


SO happy to feel that I wasn't a burden, but that 
I could do something for myself, if I wasn't 
a boy!” 

It was a thoughtless speech, and for a moment 
Jack’s face flushed; but before he could speak, 
Fanny’s arms Avere round his neck. 

" O, Jack, what a girl I am ! Do forgive me.” 

"Nonsense!” said Jack, cheerily; "what for, 
pray? You don't suppose I’m sorry to have 
made over a limb or two to Uncle Sam — do 
you? Well, go on, Fanny. So, being perfectly 
strong and well, as you say, and having plenty 
of brains, you decided to use them — did you? 
Make name, fame, and fortune by your pen?” 

"O, Jack! Only try what I could do.” 

"Well, Fanny, you’re a brave girl, and I heart- 
ily admire you. Now I’ve only one more thing 
to propose before I leave you to your meditations. 
Let me take all this trash back to bed with me, 
and put myself to sleep with it.” 

He tapped the papers, and looked at her, 
laughingly. 

"O,” said Fanny, putting out a hand to guard 
her treasures, " I am afraid you will laugh at 


me. 


THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 67 

"So that’s your courage — is it?” said Jack, 
amused. "Am I such a pitiless critic that I’m 
more to be feared than the whole public? Come, 
Fanny, dear, don’t be afraid of me. I’ll promise 
you won’t find any warmer interest than mine 
shall be.” 

Fanny never could resist Jack’s tone of en- 
treaty. She bundled up all the papers on the 
instant, and thrust them into his hand. 

"There, take them; take them all!” she said. 
"You shan’t think I’d keep a secret from you. 
Jack.” 

" Then a kiss, and good night I ” And off 
he went, leaving Fanny to lie awake, and ponder, 
half regretfully, on the fact that her mystery 
was revealed. 

When she went to her brother’s room in the 
morning, she found him all ready to receive her, 
the papers l^dng near him. She advanced, half 
timidly, not daring to look him full in the 
face. 

"Courage!” said Jack, laughingly. "Hold up 
your head, Fanny. I don’t think them altogether 
bad.” Then, as she raised her eyes, "You silly 
girl, don’t look so frightened; you don’t want 


68 


IN THE WORLD. 


me to say they’re downright good — do you ? 
Come, then, they’re first rate, Fanny ! I’m pretty 
proud of you. How did you ever learn to write 
like that, and never let me know, eh?” 

"O, Jack,” said Fanny, coming close to the 
sofa, and clapping her hands in intensity of de- 
light, '^do you really mean it? Do you think I 
ever can do anything?” 

"Ever, you goosey? Why, of course you 
can. There, there, don’t pull me to pieces in 
your ecstasy 1 Yes, Fanny, you have talent, and 
I’ll venture to promise you success at some day 
not very fiir off.” 

"O, Jack, will you help me? Then I have not 
a wish left in the world.” 

Jack’s eyes actually filled with tears as Fanny 
rapturously hugged and kissed him. 

"Poor little Fanny ! ” he said. "Had she been 
so unhappy then, without telling anybody a word 
about it?” 

"No, indeed, never unhappy while I have you. 
But, Jack, I shall be so much more satisfied now 
that I have something to work at ; and something, 
too, in which you will be interested.” 

Jack lay still for a moment, stroking his sister’s 


THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 


69 


hair gently, as if there were something more he 
wished to say. Presently it came. 

” Suppose we work together, Fan. Do you 
knoAv, a long time ago, I used to think of doing 
this very thing? Indeed, I have done it a little in 
my young days, before I was the patched old log 
I am now. Now don’t smother me because I said 
that I Well, when I was first wounded, and lay 
there on my back, I began to write out some of 
iny experiences, and think I would make a little 
book some time out of my war recollections. 
Then came the going back, and put everything 
else out of my head ; and when I came home — O, 
Fanny, I’ve got out my papers again and again, 
turned them over, and then looked at my left 
hand, and thought of my stupid, aching head, and 
just put them back again.” 

Fanny had laid her head down on the sofa 
cushion, and had a quiet little cry, while Jack 
had been speaking. 

" And you never came to me to help you. 
Jack?” 

"Ah, you see Ave mistrusted each other,” said 
her brother, shaking his head. "The worse for 
me ! Ah, Fanny, Avho’s the burden, I should like 


70 


IN THE WORLD. 


to know ? Who’s the useless member of society, 
you or I? Well, well, neither of us, then I But 
what do you say? Shall we enter into partner- 
ship, begin a joint literary career, and take the 
world by storm?” 

"I wouldn’t change places with any girl in 
the world ! ” was Fanny’s somewhat irrelevant 


answer. 


A LOOPHOLE OPENS FOR GEOFFREY. 71 


CHAPTER V. 


A LOOPHOLE OPENS FOR GEOFFREY. 

HERE are periods in the experience of every 



JL domestic circle when the affairs of the in- 
dividuals composing it, after going on for years 
in calm, unchanging tenor, seem suddenly to 
have reached a crisis. The peaceful order of 
home life is broken in upon, and every one 
feels that what has been once, can never be 
again. Such a crisis in the experience of the 
Stanley family was this summer. Each individ- 
ual seemed to have come to the period when 
he must choose his career for himself, and the 
family highway had reached the point where it 
branched into several narrow roads. 

In the first place, Arthur was to go to New 
York. Mr. Melville, Lillie Dalton’s uncle, was 
a very prosperous merchant there, and Arthur 
had been offered a position in the firm. **Such 


72 


IN THE WORLD. 


an opening was not to be neglected,” nor was 
Mr. Arthur at all indifferent to the pleasant 
prospect which New York society offered to him. 

Jimmie, as we know, was to enter on his col- 
lege life. As for Geoflrey, his career was still 
hanging in the balance. It was Mr. Stanley’s 
way to leave people considerably to themselves — 
that is, never to press them to a decision, or hur- 
ry them into adopting a purpose, sure that in 
time, if the wish were an earnest one, or the 
bent were in the twig, it would eventually show 
itself. 

Meantime, Geoffrey was evidently pondering 
his future course. He was far more quiet and 
thoughtful than his wont, and his laughing face 
was often grave and preoccupied, his merry voice 
unheard for a wonderfully long period. 

"Bob,” he said, at last, one evening when the 
brothers had been sitting on the piazza for some 
minutes in silence, " do you never think what you 
are going to do with yourself after you’re through 
college ? ” 

"Of course I do,” said Bob. "How can you 
ask such a question ? ” 

" Why, I can’t imagine being so long in decid- 


A LOOPHOLE OPENS FOR GEOFFREY. 


73 


ing. I’m sure, were I in your place, I should 
have made up 1113' miud loug ago.” 

" Perhaps I may have made up mine now,” 
said Bob, smiling. " It’s not impossible.” 

”Yet you’ve never said a word.” 

"There’s a difference between saying and think- 
ing — isn’t there, Bob?” said Mr. Stanley, sud- 
denly stepping out of one of the long windows 
which opened on the piazza. "I’m not afraid 
that 3mur decision will not be made before the 
time comes. And now, Geoffrey, for yours, 
since I think your mind is made up.” 

" Yes, it is,” said Geoffrey, sitting upright in 
the hammock, where he had been stretching his 
lazy length. "Father, I want to go to sea.” 

"So I supposed,” said Mr. Stanley; "so yon 
have told us all your life, Geoffre}’. I knew 
3mu gave up college because a naval school was 
more attractive.” 

"But, father, that isn’t all. If it were only 
that I wanted to go to a naval school, I should 
have spoken before. I have been thinking a 
great deal about it, and I have decided that 
I want to go to sea before I go to the naval 
school. I don’t feel as if I could settle down 


74 


THE WORLD. 


quietly yet. I want to see something of ships, 
and adventures, and a sailor’s life.” 

"For any good reason, Geoffrey, or merely 
from the love of roving ? ” 

"I think,” said Geoffrey, frankly, "that the 
love of roving has something to do with it. But 
I should honestly like to see something of the 
real life before I begin to study about it. I 
should like to go off in a ship, and see the 
rough side of being at sea. I should under- 
stand it all so much more thoroughly then. Are 
you willing?” 

"You would find it a pretty rough experience, 
Geoffrey,” said Mr. Stanley, whose face had been 
growing graver as Geoffrey spoke. " The life 
of a sailor-boy and the company of rough tars 
would be a great change to a boy brought up 
as you have been. Your idea of a sea-life 
would lose all its romance at once.” 

" That’s just what I want,” said Geoffrey, 
earnestly. " Then I could be sure whether it 
was what I w^anted to do or not.” 

Bob, who had been standing by, silent, turned, 
and gave Geoffrey a hearty slap on the shoulder. 

" Good, young one ! ” said he. " Why, father, 


A LOOPHOLE OPENS FOR GEOFFREY. 


75 


Geoffrey is turning out a wise-head, after all ! 
That is the most sensible speech I ever heard 
him make in my life.” 

"Very true, Bob,” said Mr. Stanley, who still 
looked grave ; ” but neither you nor Geoffrey 
must forget what a sea-life is. You can hardly 
tell so well as I, how much there would be which 
would be distasteful to a boy of education and 
refinement. Kemember, too, to what temptations 
he would be exposed. Geoffrey is very young.” 

" But there are temptations everywhere, fa- 
ther,” Bob replied. " I don’t know that Geoffrey 
at sea is any more out in the world than Jim- 
mie at college. I heartily like, too, what he says 
of seeing the practical side of it. Then, as to 
the unfitness of the life for any one of refine- 
ment, why, as I look at it, the more that is put 
into a life, the more comes out of it. The boy 
is in earnest, father — why not let him go?” 

Bob’s pleading of Geoffrey’s cause was so 
hearty, sympathetic, and earnest, that Geoffrey 
put out his hand, and, under cover of the dark- 
ness, gave his brother’s hand a good squeeze. 
And Mr. Stanley said, smiling, — 

"Well, Bob, you’re a good advocate. I will 


76 


IN THE WORLD. 


think it over, Geoffrey, for I see that, as Bob 
says, you are in earnest. We must wait a good 
opportunity, however, whatever the decision 
may be.” 

And there the matter was left. 

It is seldom that "good opportunities” arrive 
in the nick of time, and Geoffrey had nerved 
himself to wait for a long term of probation. 
But his proposed patience had its reward in 
advance. Only a few days after the talk with 
Mr. Stanley, there appeared unexpectedly at din- 
ner a certain Captain Hawley, an old friend of 
grandpapa. This gentleman was one of the ear- 
liest recollections of the Stanley boys, and from 
their childhood had held a place in their regard 
as a benevolent friend, who turned up at widely 
separated intervals, took the most lively interest 
in them and their concerns, and made himself 
acceptable to them by presents and wonderful 
seafaring stories. To Geoffrey, especially, was 
Captain Hawley an object of interest, and, from 
the days when Geoffrey had worn petticoats, his 
taste for sailors and ships had enlisted the cap- 
tain in his favor. 

At sight of the visitor a flush and sparkle 


A LOOPHOLE OPENS FOR GEOFFREY. 77 


came into Geoffrey’s cheeks and eyes, which 
said, as plainly as words could say it, " Here 
is my chance ! ” Even in shaking hands with 
Captain Hawley he turned and looked at his fa- 
ther, coloring to the roots of his hair with pleas- 
ure. That look made way with Mr. Stanley’s 
reluctance. 

" Well,” he said to his wife, a little sadl}^, 
**why should we oppose the boy in his wish, 
when his happiness is in question? There is 
nothing wrong in his purpose, and I am selfish 
in opposing his choice in life because it is a 
hard sacrifice to us to let him go.” 

And thus it was settled. I suppose one scarce- 
ly knows how hard it is for a father and mother 
to give up their own cherished wishes for a child, 
and make way for what they find will consti- 
tute his happiness. But you will think my story 
getting into' too grave a vein, and, indeed, Lillie 
Dalton thought this summer quite too grave a 
one to precede her proposed gay winter. Cap- 
tain Hawley was to sail very soon on a long 
voyage to China, and Geoffrey was to accom- 
pany him. 

"Of course I am perfectly happy,” he re- 


78 


IN THE WORLD. 


peated many times after the plan was all set- 
tled, and yet Geoffrey’s face was often a very 
grave one. It is a serious matter when the 
young birds in the nest begin to stretch their 
wings, and Geoffrey, despite his love of ad- 
venture, had always been looked upon as the 
youngest, the home pet. 

"King Barnacle has fairly slipped out of his 
shell,” said cousin Sue, shaking her head with 
rather a sober smile. 

Geoffrey had begged that the family might go 
back to Lakeside Hill early in September, that 
his last remembrances of home might be the dear 
old place ; and, as Jimmie was to go to college 
at the same time, they gladly complied with the 
request, and the summer at Kockedge was a 
short one. I will not say anything of the part- 
ing talks of the twins, because I still think that 
good-by words are the saddest that can be said, 
and I do not wish you to think this wholly 
a story of sad things. 

" Dear me ! even Prissy has the blues ! ” said 
Lillie Dalton, coming disconsolately into the 
library on Geoffrey’s last evening at home. "I 
went down to the kitchen to get a little cheered 


A LOOPHOLE OPENS FOR GEOFITlEr. 79 


up, and there was Prissy sitting by the fire, cry- 
ing over Geoffrey as if her heart would break. 
^ YoiiVe always been my favorite out of all of 
’em, Mr. Geoffrey, dear/ said she. (Only think 
how Geoffrey used to plague her life out !) 
* There isn’t one of ’em all to hold a candle to 
you for size, or looks, or anything. And to 
think that you should be the one of all others to 
go and be drowned ! ’ ” 

” Cheerful view,” said Arthur, laughing off 
Prissy’s lugubrious foreboding. 

" Wasn’t it ? And then she went on ; ' And 
only to think of the doughnuts I used to fry for 
you, and you stealing them as fast as I could fry ; 
and how long it will be before I can make you 
any more!’ 'Make some this minute. Prissy,’ 
said Geoffrey, 'and I’ll engage to eat them every 
one.’ And the poor old thing got up and kissed 
him, and I do believe she is frying away now, as 
hard as she can, and getting happier with every 
doughnut. But I had to come away — it makes 
;me think so of old times.” 

"'Old times ’ — how much that means ! ” echoed 
iPanny. "All our old merry games, and the 
' J. G. T.’ Why, there’ll be nobody left for that 
when little Lillie’s turn comes.” 


80 


IN THE WORLD. 


"O Fanny, you make me bluer and bluer,” said 
Lillie, dolefully. "Do try to think of something 
to make the evening a little less dismal.” 

Thus exhorted, Fanny and Arthur laid their 
heads together, and finally withdrew into a 
corner, where they scribbled away for some 
time, whispering and laughing over the paper, 
as if to dispel the grave looks of the elders. 
When Geofircy came up from the down-stairs 
regions (leaving Prissy somewhat comforted, 
let us hope, by the wholesale demolition of her 
doughnuts), the pair came out of their corner, 
and called a convocation of the " J. G. T.” 
Then they all sat down on the hearth-rug, round 
the cheerful fire, which danced in the corners of 
the old room as blithely as if it would fain light 
up all the sober faces there, and Fanny read 
aloud what she and Arthur had been scribblins: : — 

THE VALEDICTORY OF THE “J. G. T.” 

Dear friends, as hurrying years roll by, 

And bear us on, wo wonder why 
Our views so changed should be. 

We wonder, too, at hearts so gay, 

That not a thought beyond the day 
Disturbed their “J. G. T.” 


A LOOPHOLE OPEXS FOR GEOFFREY, 


81 


Ah, “ Terapus fugit ! ” Truth so old 
Becomes new truth, whenever told. 

And boys must change to men. 
Light-hearted girls to women grow, 

And later years, too well we know, 

Can’t bring old times again. 

How many things step in between 
To claim us in the busy scene, 

The whirl we call the world ! 

To men, their life-work fresh each day. 
To women, ’tis enough, they say, 

To let themselves he whirled ! 

But come, dear friends, your sleepy eyes 
Beseech me not to moralize. 

But straight my purpose tell; 

This, then : our childhood is outgrown ; 
Yet, ere old toys aside are thrown, 

Let’s pause to say farewell! 

Farewell to dear old childish sports; 

For nobler aims and graver thoughts 
Fill manly hearts to-day; 

Bright dreams to maiden fancy rise. 

Gay visions dazzle girlish eyes, — 

Each goes his separate way. 

Our marshal proudly leads the van, 
Marks out his course on Fortune’s plan. 
And seeks a wider field. 

6 


82 


IN THE WORLD 


Shall rosy clouds still gild his morn,’ 
Ribbon and badge his breast adorn, 

And Commerce riches yield? 

The swift and strong shall win the race. 
The best boat take the foremost place. 

By sturdy strokes impelled. 

May the same spirit lead through life. 

And nerve our Bob, in sterner strife, 

To hold the place he’s held! 

Our home birds have their nest outgrown, 
And boldly flutter forth alone. 

On tender wings untried. 

Yet have no fears for gentle Jim; 

The college life, to boys like him. 

Presents its purest side. 

Unmoved he’ll on temptation look. 

The "world for him a larger book. 

O’er which, absorbed, he’ll bend; 

No taint of college vice come near. 

Nor e’en of college tricks he’ll hear. 

Save from some luckless friend! 

King Barnacle eschewed his shell. 

And Geoifrey, bursting bonds as well, 
Shall launch out on life’s main, 

In stately ships shall ride the wave. 

Shall shipwreck, storm, and danger brave, 
A sailor’s daring gain. 


A LOOPHOLE OPENS FOR GEOFFREY 


83 


Nor are our maidens left behind; 

The leading thought in Lillie’s mind 
Is, in the world again ! 

In fancy, now, the gas-lights glance, 

She sees herself leading the dance, 

A slaughteress of men! 

So widely sundered “J. G. T.”? 

Shall then no link of memory 
Hold us together bound? 

No lingering thought of home remain, . 

No fond regret, no tender pain. 

In severed hearts be found? 

Yes; wheresoe’er our lot may be, 

This slender thread of memory 
Shall bind us to each other; 

The thought of him in bygone days. 

The leader of our merry plays. 

Our cousin, friend, and brother! 

Obedient to his country’s call. 

He sacrificed health, strength, and all 
That makes the charm of life; 

And, though no more a sword he’ll wield. 

Is still a soldier in the field, 

A hero in the strife ! 

The thought of home in every mind. 

The thought of dear ones left behind. 
Beside the fireside still; 


84 


IN THE WORLD. 


The thought of her whose puny might 
Would prove itself in life’s hard fight, 
And wield the goose’s quill I 

Then say not we are far apart; 

A common thought, a loving heart. 
Can bridge the widest sea. 

Our friendship still shall bind us fast. 
And once again unite, at last. 

Our scattered “ J. G. T.” 


”Is that yours or Arthur’s, Fanny?” asked 
Guy, as Fanny finished reading the poem, amid 
the applause of the ” J. G. T.” (though, as 
Lillie said, it was a question whether it made 
them feel any gayer). 

"O, Fanny’s,” said Arthur. "I don’t scribble 
at such short notice. I only polished oflf a 
period or two, here and there.” 

” Fanny might do something with her pen, if 
she chose,” said Guy — a rejoinder at which 
Fanny telegraphed smiling looks to Jack. 

But why should I linger over the breaking up 
of the home circle? Days come as surely and 
as soon, however we may dread them; and that 
night was no longer than any other because Geof- 
frey was to sail on the morrow. Nor would any 


A LOOPHOLE OPENS FOR GEOFFREY, 85 

amount of packing and preparation make the 
hours of the morning more than sixty minutes 
long, or put off the time when the family party 
stood on the wharf, looking a last look after their 
sailor-boy. There he stood on the deck, waving 
bis cap to them, and trying to wear the sunniest 
smile in the world, though, as little Lillie said, 
” it was a very watery sun I ” 

Don’t be down-hearted, Mrs. Stanley. I’ll 
take good care of your big baby,” were cheery 
Captain Hawley’s parting words ; and Bob and 
Jimmie drew their mother’s arms through their 
own, as if to assure her that she was not left 
alone. And so the ship sailed away, and they 
stood and watched till Geoffrey’s blue jacket was 
the merest speck. Then it disappeared entirely, 
and they knew that their sailor-boy was drifted 
out into the world ! 

Jimmie had been too busy in comforting his 
mother to have much time for his own lone- 
liness ; but he was glad that he was to go out 
to Cambrids^e to-niorht for his first taste of col- 
lege life. Change of scene is a great protector 
against the blues ; and as Jimmie trudged man- 
fully off with Bob over Cambridge Bridge, he 


86 


IN THE WORLD. 


was very thankful to have college to think and 
talk of. 

Not so with the party at home. The little 
house that had shut in so much brightness within 
its narrow walls seemed to have grown suddenly 
dark and gloomy. The rooms that had echoed 
to so many noisy, joyous voices, seemed strangely 
silent and dead, and little Lillie, and Arthur, 
ready to start with the morning for New York, 
a poor substitute for the three merry boys 
whose chairs stood empty. Still, every one 
made a manful effort, and resolutely chatted and 
laughed. 

"This is the time when people begin to find 
out the value of girls,” said Lillie — a speech 
which, under the circumstances, would have 
sounded somewhat heartless, had not Mr. Stanley 
understood so well his little daughter’s composi- 
tion, and recognized the words as so many staunch 
protests against rising tears. And, sure enough, 
when bed-time came, Lillie, being missed, was 
discovered curled up on Geoffrey’s deserted bed, 
asleep on the pillow she had wet with her tears, 
and was hugging in her arms as if it were a piece 
of Geoffrey’s self! 


A LOOPHOLE OPENS FOR GEOFFREY. 87 



Mr. Stanley stood for a minute looking in at 
the room where the twins had spent so many 
happy hours, so united even in their difference. 
"There are no birds in last year’s nest,” he said, 
smiling sadly, jind softly shut the door. 


88 


IN THE WORLD. 


CHAPTER VI. 


LILLIE S DEBUT, 


OW that our home-party is so widely 



JL 1 severed, that what I tell you of one will 
no longer he true of the others, now that their 
life, interests, and surroundings are so different, 
I shall have to adopt the rule of "one at a 
time,” and take you about with me to give you 
bird’s-eye views of each. And so it happens that 
on this afternoon, late in November, we find our- 
selves in New York, and in Mrs. Melville’s par- 
lor, just at the time when twilight shadows are 
falling fast, and people who have no pressure of 
occupation on their hands, are apt to sit in the 
dark, chat oyer the fire, or doze as they wait for 
dinner. So Mrs. Melville and Lillie were occu- 
pied this afternoon, Lillie Avalking from fire to 
window and back again, while her aunt strove 
vainly after the nap which she always so indig- 
nantly denied indulging in. 


Lillie’s debut. 


89 


"How restless you are, Lillie ! ” she said, at last. 
" You wander about the room so that there is 
no chance of getting a moment’s peace or quiet. 
What is the matter?” 

"I believe I’m thinking of to-morrow night,” 
said Lillie. "I wish it were fairly over. I do 
dread my first * big party,’ and having to give 
it myself, too : it frightens me only to think 
of it.” 

"Now, Lillie, I do beg of you — ” said her 
aunt, pathetically. "If there is any one thing 
upon which I must insist, it is perfect self-posses- 
sion in society. There is nothing so entirely ill- 
bred as flutter and agitation. But I always did 
say that Guy was to be blamed for the way in 
which you pass your summers ; how is one to ac- 
quire manner in such a* little girl,’ row-boating, 
san^-paddling life as that ? ” 

"You need not be afraid for me, aunt Bella,” 
said Miss Lillie, a little piqued. "I know quite 
well how to behave, thank you. It is only that 
I want to please people ; and how can I tell wheth- 
er I shall do that till I am fairly ^ out ’ ? ” 

"There is no reason why you should not, Lil- 
lie,” said Mrs. Melville, in the same almost plain- 


90 


IN THE WORLD. 


tive tone. "You have beauty and st3de enough, 
I’m sure, and if your uncle’s wealth and position 
can’t give you standing as a belle, I don’t . know 
whose should. It all depends upon yourself, and 
I should never dream of having a doubt of you, 
if it were not for these odd ideas you sometimes 
come out with so perversely. Your sister, Guy’s 
wife, is a most excellent girl, I’m sure. I said so 
the first time I ever saw her, and she is not to be 
blamed if her bringing up has made her a little 
old-fashioned. Now that advice, in one of her 
letters to 3^ou, about spending your time, was ex- 
cellent in itself ; very praiseworthy at Lakeside 
Hill; but here — ” 

" I’m sorry I showed you Sue’s letter, aunt Bel- 
la,” said Lillie, flushing. 

" Why, darling girl ? I’m sure nobody 
could have appreciated it more than I ; it is only 
that a girl must expect to give up something her 
first winter in the world. I’m sure she has enough 
to think of in taking a proper stand in society ; 
and I know my little Lillie will not disappoint 
me, after all the hopes I’ve formed for her.” 

The coaxing tone rather grated on Lillie’s mood 
just then. 


lillie’s debut. 


91 


"I can’t make people like me if they won’t,” 
she said, half-pouting. 

” But, my love, what nonsense to suppose 
they shouldn’t! All I ask of you is, to let people 
admire you for yourself, as they can’t help doing, 
and not shock them with any of the independent 
notions you sometimes come out with. Then, too, 
Lillie, you must not be too fastidious ; a man’s 
eligibility does not depend entirely upon his char- 
acter, you know, and your little head is so full of 
Mr. Stanley’s ideas, that I am sometimes a little 
afraid of you. But come,” — seeing a cloud on 
Lillie’s brow, — "I am reading you a long lecture 
— am I not ? ” 

"And I don’t need it, aunt Bella,” said Lillie, 
her conscience giving her a little prick, as she re- 
membered the talk at Eockedge, and her honesty 
convicting: her of sufficient readiness to attract, 
without the inducement of her aunt’s maxims. 
" I only feel a little nervous at the idea of to- 
morrow.” 

" O, well, that is natural enough, and will wear 
off very quickly,” Mrs. Melville said, soothingly. 
"I am gflad vou will have Arthur as an escort this 
winter ; he is really very handsome, and his man- 


92 


IN THE WOKLD. 


iier is enough in itself to make him a favorite. 
But mind, Lillie, you are not to let people sup- 
pose there is any understanding between you ; 
such a thing is a serious disadvantage to a girl 
during her first season.” 

” There’s Arthur come to dinner,” said Lillie, 
as the front door shut with a bang ; a welcome 
interruption she felt it to a speech which made 
her feel uncomfortable. Mrs. Melville’s speeches 
always did make her feel uncomfortable when she 
was fresh from Lakeside Hill. As Arthur entered, 
she found it a relief to greet him with more than 
usual cordiality. 

" O Arthur, I’m glad to see you ! Have you 
heard from home to-day ? ” 

" Good evening, Arthur,” said Mrs. Melville, 
graciously. ''You must reassure Lillie for me. 
She is very nervous, I find, about to-morrow 
night, and the impression she is going to make 
in the gay world.” 

" She need have no fears,” said Arthur, laugh- 
ing, and adding aside to Lillie, — 

“ She sees herself leading the dance, 

A slaughteress of men I ” 


LILLIE’S DEBUT. 


93 


Then aloud, ^'Yes, Fanny keeps me supplied 
with all the home news. Her pen goes as fast as 
her tongue, and her letters are as good as being 
on the spot.” 

" What a dear bright girl she is ! ” said Lillie, 
affectionately. 

”0, she’s a trump,” said Arthur, speaking with 
much more naturalness than was his wont. ” I’m 
confident Fanny will surprise us all some day.” 

I wish she were to be here to-morrow night,” 
said Lillie ; ” but she never will leave Jack. And 
Bob, too — won’t he come on, now that you are 
here?” 

" He means to run on in vacation,” said Arthur. 
” You’ll be a reigning belle by that time, Lillie ! ” 

"Arthur,” interrupted Mrs. Melville, who had 
been growing a little impatient under all this 
Lakeside Hill chat, when something of so much 
greater importance was on the carpet, " I am 
looking forward to seeing a great deal of your 
friend this winter. I heard that Mr. Lenox was 
a great favorite in society here last year ; no won- 
der, indeed, with his wealth and position ! You 
are very intimate with him — are you not?” 

" Steve and I have always been cronies,” Ar- 


94 


IN THE WORLD. 


thur replied, with a little uncomfortable glance at 
Lillie. ^'We are talking of being chums this 
winter.” 

*'Then we shall hope to see a great deal of 
him,” was Mrs. Melville’s gracious rejoinder. 

” I always did hate Mr. Lenox,” said Lillie, re- 
belliously. 

"O, my love,” said Mrs. Melville, in despair; 
”do let me beg of you not to be so positive in 
your assertions. Come, Arthur, you must help 
me with Lillie ; she is very full of whims to- 
night.” 

And let us hope that Mrs. Melville and Arthur 
succeeded, between them, in preparing Lillie for 
her first launch in the world. 

In truth, she had been very full of whims that 
night ; but it was only the little agitation of a girl 
anxious to be admired, and entering on a hitherto 
untried experience. All the nervousness was dis- 
pelled when, on the morrow, she surveyed herself 
in the glass as she stood arrayed for her first ball, 
and realized, with a pleasurable thrill of triumph, 
how beautiful she was. She seemed to be in the 
very midst of the untried world now, and to feel 
her power. Her heart beat, her cheeks flushed, 


lillie’s debut. 


95 


her eyes, sparkled, and she went dancing down the 
stairs, as if she could not wait for the guests to 
arrive and the music to begin. 

That evening was enchantment to her all 
through — the lights, the waltzing, the crowded 
rooms, the flowers, the flattering looks and words. 
From her childhood Lillie had dearly loved both 
gayety and admiration, and had had her full share 
of both. But that had all been but the play and 
make-believe to which this was the reality. This 
was her debut into the real world — the opening 
of a brilliant career. She gave herself up to the 
delight of the sensation, and enjoyed her own 
party as heartily as any of her guests — with a 
freshness, too, which would have attracted atten- 
tion without the aid of her beauty. 

” Your niece will create a sensation among us, 
Mrs. Melville,” said Steve Lenox to his smiling 
and complacent hostess. ” She will make an era 
in New York society.” 

And Mrs. Melville bowed and smiled, delighted 
at the assurance of the ” old young man.” Steve 
Lenox was not a person whose opinion was to be 
thought lightly of. (Is it so with any young man 
who is independent, and has a large fortune at his 


96 


IN THE WORLD. 


own disposal?) He had been in New York for 
the last two years, making a play of doing a little 
business, ” just to keep him from growing rusty,” 
and making a serious business of going into the 
gay whirl of society. Arthur’s evil genius was 
always sure to be at his elbow. 

The evening went like a flash, and Lillie lived 
it all over again in her sleep, with the music ring- 
ing in her ears, and feet that danced all through 
the night in dreams. Now that the gates of 
Fairyland were fairly opened to her, what a re- 
gion of delight she looked at ! Every new invi- 
tation was a fresh enchantment, and every vacant 
evening a weariness. Yes, Lillie was fairly in 
the whirl now ; and it requires a pretty steady 
head not to be carried down in the vortex. Go- 
ing into the world is an absorbing thing ; and in the 
delight of being a belle, Lillie found her interest 
in other things beginning to grow faint. 

" Of course I shall keep up my music, and take 
French lessons just the same,” she had said to 
Sue, before leaving Lakeside Hill. But the puz- 
zle was to find time for anything in this whirlpool. 
There were those nice early morning hours, just 
after breakfast, when the piano at home had been 


Lillie’s debut. 


97 


used to ring so blithely through the house under 
the touch of Lillie’s fingers. But now, why, a girl 
can’t be up night and day, of course ; and those 
early hours were generally spent in recovering the 
lost freshness of the evening before. Then, ” after 
breakfast,” nowadays, was well on towards calling 
hours, and there is no use in trying to practise 
with the door-bell ringing constantly. Then the 
afternoon went in driving and dressing, or, if Lil- 
lie ever did find a vacant half hour, she was sure 
to be summoned by a seamstress, or dress-maker, 
and made a lay-figure for silk or tarletane dra- 
peries. 

"It was no use,” Lillie said, despairingly; "the 
time all wentJ^ 

So the piano was shut, and turned into a con- 
servatory for Lillie’s bouquets, and dust gathered 
on the leaves of her French dictionary. When 
she flew to the hall table, as she came in, it was to 
look, not for home letters, but cards and invita- 
tions. So much time to this party, and, after 
that, so much time to the next ; between whiles, 
dresses to be got ready for them all, and Mrs. 
Melville to live over her niece’s triumphs in her 
self-satisfied, complacent manner. Flowers left at 
7 


98 


IN THE WORLD. 


the door, a long vista of excitement all through 
the days, and at night the Fairyland again, with 
its freshness, by this time, a little worn off. Such 
was Lillie’s life during this first season ; is it 
much wonder if she had little time or thought for 
anything outside of or above it ? 

"I think it is weeks since we had a sight of 
Lillie’s handwriting,” said Guy Dalton, as day 
after day passed at Lakeside Hill, without any 
of the little notes which used to be so frequent. 

” O, a girl’s first winter in society is so ab- 
sorbing 1 ” Sue answered, with her long-suffering 
charity. 

"H-m,” said Guy; ” all things in moderation.” 

So said Mr. Melville, as morning after morning 
brought Arthur to the counting-room, late and 
languid, with a head too dull and aching to be 
clear enough for business details. Parties may 
be all well enough for you and Lillie, Bella. 
But if young Stanley ever means to do anything 
in business, he must give up all this ball-going. 
That style of thing may be very well for a fellow 
like young Lenox, who has his nest already feath- 
ered ; but young men who have their own row to 
hoe, can’t afford to stop by the way to dance all 
round it.” 


AT HARVARD AND AT HOME. 


99 


CHAPTER YIL 


AT HARVARD AND AT HOME. 

HILE Lillie Dalton was thus setting the 



t T ball-room world on fire, and Arthur Stan- 
ley was engaged in the abstruse science of figures 
after the German^ matters in Boston and the 
classic shades of Cambridge were progressing in 
more every-day fashion. I sui^pose that Sopho- 
mores will still be oppressors, and Freshmen op- 
pressed, till the end of time ; that each successive 
class will be the finest ever known, and each 
successive band of classmates the " best fellows 
in the world,” in the twenty-fifth as in the nine- 
teenth century. The college world goes on im- 
proving to the end of the chapter, if students are 
to be believed. 

Jimmie Stanley was very happy at Harvard. 
True, he saw it in a somewhat one-sided way, for 
he had never fairly learned Mr, Stanley’s lesson 


100 


IN THE WORLD. 


of a world outside of books, and the want of 
Geoffrey at his elbow, to supply the deficiencies 
of his nature with his own sharply-contrasted 
tastes, threw him more and more upon himself. 
But no boy ever more thoroughly appreciated 
the opportunities of college life ; and if one’s true 
happiness lies in study, why not indulge in it? 
Yet Jimmie did not incur the censure of his class- 
mates as a "dig” (a keen term of collegiate 
reproach), for his lovable qualities had always 
made him popular among them, so far as his re- 
serve would let him be known, and there was 
not the slightest tinge of pedantry about his love 
of learning. He simply found his deepest joy 
in books, and, absorbed in them, was neither a 
sharer in the pleasures, nor in the mishaps of his 
chum, Charley Osborne. 

Bob Stanley was universally conceded to be 
one of these " best fellows in the world.” There 
was something about him at once so earnest and 
so light-hearted, so frank and fearless, and 3'et 
so steady and true, that he was everywhere pop- 
ular. His prowess in the boat and with the base- 
ball bat, made him a champion in the athletic 
half of the class ; his good standing and ready 


AT HARVARD AND AT HOME. 


101 


talents procured him respect with the scholastic 
portion. So in his senior year he stood high in 
the hearts of his fellows, and the mantle of his 
popularity sheltered Jimmie as well. 

On a certain winter evening, Jimmie was sit- 
ting with his books in Bob’s room — always a quiet 
retreat when Charley Osborne’s frequent broils 
with tyrannical " Sophs ” made his own room too 
hot to hold him. Bob had just steered his last 
mathematical pupil safely through the straits of a 
hard problem, and turned from the closing door 
to the roaring fire and comfortable arm-chair, 
when he caught sight of Jimmie, sitting with his 
elbows resting on the table, his eyes fixed, not 
on his book, but on the fire, with such a wistful 
expression that Bob stopped short, poker in hand. 
There must surely be something serious on Jim- 
mie’s mind to divert it from his beloved page ; 
so Bob, laying down the poker, put his hand on 
Jimmie’s shoulder, with a — 

" What, Jim ! in a brown study ? Or what 
has given you such a down-hearted look? Do 
you miss Geoffrey so much still?” 

"Yes, always. Bob; but it isn’t that to-night.” 

"What then? Isn’t college what you ex- 


102 


IN THE WORLt). 


pected? Has it turned out a disappointment, 
after all?” 

no; but — ” 

”Come, Jimmie,” said Bob, smiling, as he 
leaned on the back of Jimmie’s chair, ” out with 
it ! You know I have been a safe confidant any 
time these ten years.” 

” I know, Bob. It is nothing very much ; only 
college is not quite what I had expected it to be 
in some ways. There are some things I never 
imagined I should know about, much less see 
here, and it makes me feel sad to learn about 
them now.” 

Bob’s smiling face grew grave as Jimmie spoke. 

”Ah, Jimmie!” said he, "one can’t stay a 
child forever. I don’t believe it is best for us 
that we should. People have to look at things 
with their eyes open, and take their choice ; 
otherwise, you know, we might as well go in 
leading-strings all our days.” 

But Jimmie shut his eyes, and turned away 
his head. "There is no looking and choosing for 
me. Bob ; it only makes me feel wretched, be- 
cause I know the evil’s there.” 

"I know there’s no temptation for you, my 


AT HARVARD AND AT HOME, 


103 


boy,” said Bob, heartily. ” You go through 
life on a very easy road, Jim, dear ; but however 
wretched it makes you to know how much wicked- 
ness there is in the world, I still say it is better 
for some of us to see both sides, and choose our 
own path.” 

" Then you’ve never had my feeling. Bob ? ” 
Jimmie said, wistfully. 

”Yes, indeed! Why, Jimmie, no boy comes 
to live in a place like this without finding out a 
great deal he never knew before. I think it the 
best way for him to know about it all — the evil 
as well as the good — ay, and even come pretty 
near the bad himself, if he only turns the other 
way in time. There’s nothing like experience, 
Jim, for teaching one to help other people.” 

"Do you mean. Bob,” asked Jimmie, timidly, 
'^that you ever came near Hhe bad,’ as you say, 
yourself ? ” 

"Twenty times,” said Bob, his bright face 
growing graver. "If I had not, Jimmie, I should 
never dare to hope I might some day help other 
people who are where I might have been.” 

Jimmie sat still for a moment, thinking, his 
eyes still fixed on the fire. 


104 


IN THE WORLD. 


" Then you think there is some chance of help- 
ing them, Bob?” he said, slowly. "I am only 
wretched when I think of evil that there is no 
hope of curing.” 

" Hope ? Of course there’s always hope I ” said 
Bob, cheerily. "Courage, Jim, dear; when we 
see people sticking fast in miry places, we don’t 
sit down and lament over the mud, but hold 
out a stick to the bog-bound.” 

Jimmie smiled at the simile, and at the mo- 
ment, announced by the hasty clattering of his 
boots on the bare staircase outside, Charley Os- 
borne burst into the room, his ringing voice 
and boyish presence dispelling the shade of seri- 
ousness that hung over the two brothers as 
effectually as a fresh breeze will roll away a 
mist. 

"Ah, here you are, Jim!” he cried. "Now, 
I really must protest against this wholesale deser- 
tion of me for you. Bob. No sooner is my 
chum gone than the Sophs get wind of it in 
some mysterious manner, and descend upon me 
in a body ; ten minutes after Jimmie left the 
room to-night, there wasn’t a whole square of 
glass in our window-frames, nor, if I hadn’t hap- 


AT HARVARD AND AT HOME. 


105 


pened to be near a closet door, should I have 
had a whole square inch of skin left.” 

”Then you really rely upon Jimmie as a de- 
fence?” said Bob, laughing. . "I rather think he 
deserts to me because he fancies himself con- 
sidered a clog to your warfare.” 

"Ah, but you see he acts as a bulwark!” 
said Charley, with a grimace. " Beg your par- 
don, Jim ; but it is a fact that if the Soph- 
omores know you’re in, they let me alone. It 
is inexplicable. Bob ; but for some reason all 
Sophs have the most implacable hostility to- 
wards me.” 

" Probably you inflame their animosity,” said 
Bob. 

" On my honor, no ; it must be something in 
my presence that excites them, as a red rag does 
a herd of cattle. Why, Bob,” said Charley, 
perching himself in a colloquial attitude on the 
foot of the bed, "you wouldn’t believe all I’ve 
been made to suflfer I ” 

" I can easily believe your tale of broken win- 
dows,” said Bob. 

" O, that doesn’t count,” returned Charley, " be- 
cause I expect Jimmie to sufter as much in point 


106 


IN THE WORLD. 


of temperature and pocket as I do. I only com- 
plain of my own private and peculiar grievances. 
I’ve been tossed in a blanket, Bob, till I could 
see nothing before my eyes but green and yellow 
stars. I’ve been tossed, with my knees smeared 
with pitch, till I thought, each time I went up, 
that I should remain suspended, like Mahomet’s 
coffin, between earth and heaven — let alone the 
damage done to my trousers I I’ve been made 
to sing songs till I was hoarse, though I never 
knew one note from another. I’ve been forced 
to stand treat for half the fellows in the class, 
no matter what might be the state of my funds. 
And finally, as I was coming home late one 
moonlight night, I was waylaid by a band of 
the wretches, and made to ride on a broomstick 
half over the town, the moon shining brightly, 
every respectable citizen turning to stare me out 
of countenance, and my tormentors joining in 
the hoot of derision whenever they got a chance.” 

”Poor Freshy!” said Bob, laughing heartily 
at the chapter of grievances. ” You’ve certainly 
had your full share. Is it possible that your 
manly spirit can calmly endure so much, and 
not rise against your oppressors?” 


AT HARVARD AND AT HOME. 


107 


"No, it isn’t,” said Charley. "Bob, I’ve laid 
a plot to avenge myself. As good luck would 
have it, I brought over from Lakeside Hill one 
of those man-traps the gardener had in the or- 
chard. You know grandfather wouldn’t have 
them used, and I thought it a pity so much 
good material should be wasted; so I brought 
one here, against a rainy day ! And to-night, 
when, I hear, the Sophs have laid a plot to carry 
me off out of bed, vi et armis, I fiincy I shall 
put it to some practical use. It will be an ever- 
lasting disgrace to you two fellows if you know 
of this stratagem and don’t stand by me while 
I execute it. It’s needful defence for the safety 
of one’s person, Jimmie ! ” 

And off went the three boys, laughing merrily. 

It may be true, as little Lillie said, that the 
time for appreciating girls is when the boys have 
all left the parental roof ; but most certainly the 
time when these same boys are appreciated is 
when they come back from college for their Sat- 
urdays at home. What home festivals they are ! 
and how every little bit of work that has been 
lagging on through the week is hurried up at 
the last, that all may be in readiness for " the 


108 


IN THE WORLD. 


boys ” ! Everybody wishes to be at leisure to 
atteud to them, and every one, could wishes 
effect it, would be at her brightest to receive 
them. 

Lillie Stanley had been watching for her broth- 
ers, on the Saturday of which I am writing, 
for a long time before they appeared ; and now, 
as they turned the corner, she flew down the 
steps, bareheaded, to welcome them. 

" Steady, steady ! ” exclaimed Bob, as she 
sprang up to kiss her favorite brother. " Why, 
Lillie, I didn’t know young ladies of your age 
did such undignified things in the street I Has 
anything happened to excite you?” 

“ ‘ O, Bobolink, Bobolink, 

What do you think?’” 

said Lillie, dancing before them on the steps. 
"Fanny’s got her name in the papers, and Jack’s 
is coming out in a day or two ! ” ^ 

"Why, Lillie, what are you talking about?” 
said Jimmie, laughing. " What has Fanny been 
doing?” 

" Go in, and see if it isn’t so ! ” said Lillie. 
" Fanny is in there herself, and you maj’^ ask 
her.” 


AT HARVARD AND AT HOME. 


109 


”What is this extraordinary tale we hear about 
you, Fanny?” said Bob, catching her as she 
tried, laughingly, to pass him in the hall. 
"Lillie says you’ve actually been getting your- 
self into the newspapers.” 

"O, you boys!” said Fanny, laughing and 
blushing. " There is no use in coming here on 
Saturday afternoons if one wants any quiet and 
secrecy.” 

" Secrecy indeed,” said Bob, " when you’re 
actually printed in the paper I Come, Fanny, 
confess.” 

" Why, I only came to tell uncle Arthur that 
I had sent a little story to one of the magazines, 
and that it had been accepted. There was not 
much to tell in that, for you might all see it 
for yourselves in the announcement of the mag- 
azine to-night — as Lillie’s sharp eyes have done 
already. But the great piece of news is that 
Jack has been writing a book about his regi- 
ment, and 'Camp Crayons’ will come out on 
Monday. O, I am so happy I Bob, I feel as if 
that, book were my own.” 

"Fanny can’t distinguish between her own good 
fortune and Jack’s,” said uncle Arthur, at the 


110 


IN THE WORLD. 


door. ” Look at Bob’s ej^es ! He never knew 
before that Fanny wrote.” 

” I knew Fanny could do almost anything she 
tried to,” said Bob, heartily; "but I am very 
much surprised, and as pleased as she is. What 
started you, Fanny?” 

"O, woman’s work in general, and Fanny Os- 
borne’s vocation in particular,” said Fanny, laugh- 
ing. "But let me go. Bob. It is dinner time. 
Jack will want me, and Charley will think me 
partial if I desert him on Saturdays to come to 
you. Did you leave him alive, Jimmie? Pie 
said, last week, that the Sophs were in league 
against his life. Come, Bob, save your congratu- 
lations for another time, and let me say good by.” 

But Bob followed her down the steps. 

"No, Fanny; I haven’t said half enough yet. 
I’m proud of every girl who thinks she has some- 
thing better to do in life than play. Why, three 
quarters of the men haven’t learned that yet ! ” 
Ergo, none of the women?” said Fanny, smil- 
ing. " Well, Bob, dear, I am seriously very 
happy and thankful for my good fortune, and 
heartily glad to find a little spot in the world 
where I can dig too. And then, only think of 


AT HARVArwD AND AT HOME. 


Ill 


Jack ! Is it not too good to think that the dear 
fellow has one power left that can’t be taken 
away ? ” 

Take care he never loses his right hand, then, 
Fanny,” said Bob, merrily, as they stopped at 
the Osbornes’ door. "I shall have some good 
news to carry on to New York with me next 
week.” 

" Yes ; tell Arthur and Lillie for us, and save 
our blushes,” said Fanny, laughingly, as she ran 
up the* steps. " Good by, and a pleasant journey 
to you, Bob.” 


112 


IN THE WORLD. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A LOOK AT LILLIE’S LIFE. 

! ” said Bob ; and, as he uttered the 
T T exclamation, he turned slowly round to 
take a survey of Arthur’s rooms, into which he 
and his valise had just been ushered. 

If the exclamation were one of admiration, it is 
perhaps no wonder Bob uttered it, for nothing 
could be more comfortable, luxurious, and even 
elegant, than the appearance of the room. Not 
only were the carpet, curtains, and solid articles 
of furniture handsome, but numerous little trifles 
attested Arthur’s taste ; excellent pictures and 
engravings covered the walls, and every article, 
by its luxury and perfect keeping, betokened a 
free indulgence of its owner’s reflned fancy. Bob 
walked slowly around, critically surveyed every- 
thing in the apartment, and the little dressing- 
room adjoining it, retreated from Steve Lenox’s 


A LOOK AT LILLIe’S LIFE. 


113 


half-open door beyond, and finally sat down in 
Arthur’s lounging-chair before the blazing fire. 

" Whew ! ” he said, again. Arthur must be 
decidedly 'flush,’ judging from the looks of 
things ! A good opening ? I should think so ! 
How delightful this would be if Steve Lenox 
were only out of the concern ! ” 

This being apparently rather an uncomfortable 
reflection, he got up again to survey the cards 
which bristled all round the frame of the chim- 
ney-glass. Parties, balls, weddings, receptions ! 
A que'er smile gathered on Bob’s lips as he read. 

" So Arthur is in request,” he concluded ; " and 
no wonder. He must be grown into a regular 
swell by this time. Well, since I’ve arrived be- 
fore I’m expected, I’ll go to the office and look 
him up.” 

"Ah! how are you, Stanley?” said Mr. Mel- 
ville, looking up as Bob entered the little room 
where he sat in his great arm-chair, wearing the 
expression that belonged to the chair, namely, a 
look as if the cares of the nation rested on his 
shoulders. "How are you? Train got in early — 
didn’t it? Looking for Arthur? You won’t find 
him here at this hour, I assure you. You don’t 
8 


114 


IN THE WORLD. 


find our young men down town of an afternoon, 
nowadays ; or many of our old ones either, for 
that matter. Why don’t you go up to my house ? 
Lillie ’ll be delighted to see you, if she isn’t too 
busy to look. Good day.” And Mr. Melville 
was straightway plunged in a fit of absorption so 
deep, that Bob wondered, as he closed the office 
door, whether he remembered bis existence at all. 
He was mistaken, if he thought not, for Mr. Mel- 
ville was thinking to himself, at the moment. 
What a fine, honest, straightforward face that 
young Stanley has! Worth two of his brother, 
I’ll warrant.” 

And thereupon he turned back to his books 
and papers with redoubled diligence, to make up 
for the moment’s delay, and forgot about Bob, in 
good earnest. 

" Too busy to look ! ” said Bob to himself, 
smilingly, as he turned his steps towards Mr. 
Melville’s house. ”New York is a busy place, 
it seems ! ” 

Yet no one could have looked more at leisure 
than the two figures who occupied the parlor into 
which he was shown. Lillie Dalton leaned back 
on the cushions of the sofa, where she sat playing 







tti ■' TA MOOJ A 

f)jf^ iriI;;.«i>i{'>'Tr’W lid enriRfh *}df''ihrrr . : 
io I U , bp* 4 oi -1 f 1 1 f , fj : 1 1 ‘>ii poo Ai isd ii i^i.7r 

inar.'^l od:^ rrufti R ot ,ao!H^qx3 , 

,n ni ^ooot.ijAfAoi'citi adJ 

“Kcnifri! omoc &diiil>. of ^poi ih>U obmi in cii 

fl/jrn ^nuo*^ MliiT .mid oliii noli 
► v;--V . - ^ • .xoanJ 

,’^n.opo.- ^f'i ^-3 :)d"''^iJ07 .w, wod /(olaalB fd/i.'’. 

-ft 'f- eCfl'd ‘di fti onot Aid ^ohotU joii 

'a:dJ’</vOV')i[*)fl i ’■ abur/rjv)! qoJa 
ijOfTririoxo "^<^5 df>’^ op v?od ,dofI , 7117 / ' 
♦^nid ovi'>oo*t .o> ifio* «Mij nt&il q<o xatiqixuif^ ^oiilivl 
ba xtiM** Jfiainom a jii lid Ifa ^aiaol hfifi 

eaioo al iiov *1o Jioo^ 'vod bru: ! 307, o*>« . (»t b/d^ 

, ‘ ‘ *• *'!fioo8 ba I 

nodi b«n ,d(>^I ebnad ilooifa od8 H 

noia^.orrqz^J oiJj {h'P// xoiioj i>vojH girurffip bocnuf J 
slim b^yiiioiiijo:> jbs'^od '-tlo'/t oda aodv? a7row oao J 

■ '■ ' •• <■ ”•• '*'.' • '•"• . k 

yraul a b 0 ji m v, ■ , d l i i"/. * 0 7^' [ j \ i^a « n 10:^ ru'I ” ' yi| 

i‘b;j ej^htb tub UK'?^t yuoioliibtd bn»| 

ynmioD 7ji^ ot ma I npdT.r 
indt' bowi/: 6no\otfii.I ^>.il/ ^'^iWirriibn,^ 

■ iln ‘io OhPdi^ 

iii b/:d eii &7oYq 7»ii<oda ^ic^mom "{,ai atoinU - .1 

i 6 '" '. '" ■-'-' ,.' . . • .^-J 



A LOOK AT LILLIE’S LIFE. 


115 


■with the charms of her watch-chain, and listening, 
with a half-coquettish, half-bored, all-discontented 
expression, to a young man who leaned against 
the mantel-piece, talking in a listless, nonchalant 
fashion that made Bob long to shake some anima- 
tion into him. This young man was Steve 
Lenox. 

"Ah, Stanley, how are you?” he said, coolly, 
not altering his tone in the least, or moving a 
step forward. " I believe Arthur was ex — ” 

"Why, Bob, how do you do?” exclaimed 
Lillie, jumping up from the sofa to receive him, 
and losing all her languor in a moment. "I’m so 
glad to see you ! and how good of you to come 
so soon ! ” 

She shook hands heartily with Bob, and then 
turned towards Steve Lenox with the expression 
one wears when she feels herself confronted with 
two very inharmonious elements. 

"I’m going,” said Steve, with a smile as lazy 
and indifferent as all the rest of his doings and 
sayings. "Then I am to have my German made 
endurable. Miss Lillie, and we are agreed that 
those tablets of yours were all wrong?” 

"Unless my memory should prove as bad in 


116 


IN THE WORLD. 


your case as in the other,” said Lillie, with a 
faint blush rising to her cheek, in spite of her 
half-scornful little laugh and shrug of her pretty 
shoulders. 

"Is there any danger of that?” said Steve, 
with an affectation of alarm. " Then I shall have 
to adopt some means of making you remember 
our engagement. Ah, poor fellow ! what will be 
his feelings when he finds himself thrown over ! 
I’m afraid we shall be responsible for the conse- 
quences, Miss Lillie. Good by, then, for the 
present. We shall meet again soon, I suppose, 
Stanley.” 

And, with a careless nod to Bob, Steve left 
the room. There had always been the same sort 
of tacit antagonism between Bob and Steve 
Lenox from the days of their boyhood. On 
Bob’s side, a well-defined dislike, arising from 
general disapprobation of Steve’s ways of think- 
ing, his conduct, principles, and associates, as 
well as of his pernicious influence over Arthur. 
On Steve’s side, it was the easily explained dis- 
like of one person towards another, who, he 
knows, sees through and holds him at his true 
value. This dislike w^as, with Bob, by no means 


A LOOK AT LILLIE’S LIFE. 


117 


diminished through separation from its object. 
There was something in Steve’s easy assurance of 
manner towards Lillie, which incensed him far 
more than his rudeness towards himself; and, as 
he turned to Lillie now, somewhat of this feeling 
looked out of his tell-tale face. Bob was a per- 
son of such sterling honesty, — such true coin 
throughout, — that any alloy was pretty sure to 
ring false and hollow in his presence, and all 
sham and make-believe to betray themselves at 
once. So Lillie, encountering his clear, frank 
eyes, was conscious, at once, of the affected 
coquetry of her manner towards Steve, and 
blushed as if Bob had accused her of it. 

’'Do you like him, Lillie?” Bob asked, ab- 
ruptly. 

Lillie shook her head, with another little shrug. 
"No better than you do.” 

"Then why do you pretend to?” said blunt 
Bob. "And why do you break your engage- 
ments with other people to dance with him?” 

"O,” said Lillie, blushing, as she tossed her 
pretty head, with her old childish perverseness, 
" Steve Lenox is somebody in society. Bob, and 
it won’t do to show all one’s feelings so openly 


118 


IN THE WORLD. . 


there. Besides, why should I bore myself with 
a stupid partner? If I don’t happen to approve 
of Mr. Lenox all through, that is no reason why 
I should deny that he dances beautifully, and is a 
very attentive and agreeable German partner.” 

”And no reason that you should break your 
word, so far as I can see,” said Bob, impertur- 
bably. 

"O, well,” said Lillie, laughing off his Tvords 
with her wonted wilfulness, don’t scold me. 
Bob. Steve Lenox is over and done with — 
don’t let’s bother ourselves about him now. I 
want to hear all about Lakeside Hill, and Sue, 
and Guy, and that dear little rogue. Bo bin. 
How does Jimmie get on in college? And O, 
isn’t Fanny coming out splendidly?” 

So Bob and Lillie sat down by the fire in the 
darkening twilight, and had one of the comforta- 
ble, cosy chats that home subjects are sure to 
suggest; and Lillie, getting rid of all the languor 
and indifference of her society manner, became 
her own warm-hearted, amiable little self, as Bob 
answered her eager questions. 

”0,” she said, half regretfully, as Bob fin- 
ished a glowing eulogium on Fanny, her earnest- 


A LOOK AT LILLIE’S LIFE. 


119 


ness in making an aim for herself, and an interest 
for Jack, her talent, and ambition, ” it does make 
me ashamed of being such a mere plaything and 
doll-baby. I do wish, after all, that I need not 
lead such an empty, good-for-nothing kind of 
life.’’ 

"And why need you, Lillie?” said Bob, in his 
brusque fashion. 

But two serious speeches in succession seemed 
too much for Lillie. 

"0,1 don’t know ; everybody can’t do exactly 
what they choose,” was the somewhat vague re- 
ply. "Never mind, now — have you seen Ar- 
thur yet ? ” 

"Arthur was out when I arrived,” said Bob. 
" I thought I might perhaps find him here.” 

"He is grown into a very fine young man,” 
said Lillie, shaking her head gravely ; " so all the 
mammas say. Bob. By the way — ” 

"Ah, Mr. Bobert,” said Mrs. Melville’s voice 
at the door. " I have been wondering who was 
Lillie’s guest. I know she is overjoyed to see 
you, and so am I.” 

Mrs. Melville’s tone and manner were not quite 
so " overjoyed ” as her words, and Bob wondered, 


120 


IN THE WORLD. 


as he shook hands, what was the use of saying so 
much, when, as it seemed, people meant so little. 
He was quite glad to hear Mr. Melville’s hearty 
voice behind his wife, for, however much the man- 
ner of his welcome might suffer by comparison 
with hers, it had, at least, a genuine sound. 

”Ah, here you are again, Stanley! Well, 
stay to dinner with us ; we shall be glad to see 
more of you — shan’t we, Lillie?” 

"We should, or I should,” said Lillie, "if it were 
not for the party. I suppose I should see little 
enough of him if he staid. Heigh-ho I ” with a 
little yawn ; " if only one could get dressed by 
magic ! ” 

"Is your party to-night, Lillie?” said Bob, 
laughing. "Well, you don’t seem very ecstatic 
at the prospect.” 

"O, that’s all over now,” said the young lady, 
with a very blas^e air. " I’ve done anticipating ; 
but I enjoy it when I get there. Let me see — 
Arthur will not be there to-night, I suppose, as 
he will want to see you ; but you must go to 
the next party with him. Bob. I shall meet 

Mrs. to-night, and I shall tell her she must 

send an invitation to Mr. Stanley’s brother.” 


A LOOK AT LILLIE ’S LIFE. 


121 


” Thank you; then I shall certainly go,” said 
Bob. ''I want to see you in the world, you 
know. No, thank you, Mr. Melville. I won’t 
stay this evening, I believe. Arthur and I have 
not met yet. Good night.” 

But Lillie skipped out into the hall before her 
uncle, repeating, "Now come every day, Bob. It 
is so like old times and home — ” 

"To see you,” Lillie was about to say; but at 
the moment the door was opened, a man, coming 
up the steps, handed in a magnificent bouquet 
for Miss Dalton. " With Stephen Lenox’s compli- 
ments — a gentle reminder,” was written on the 
card accompanying it, and Lillie was too much 
absorbed in ecstatic exclamations over the rose- 
buds to remember the end of her sentence to 
Bob. 

"O, well,” said Bob, using, unconsciously, Sue’s 
very words, as he walked briskly towards Ar- 
thur’s rooms, and thought of Lillie by the way. 
" O, well, a girl must be absorbed, and, perhaps, 
somewhat unstable, her first season.” 

" Well, what do you think of my quarters. 
Bob? ” Arthur asked, when the two brothers were 
settled over the fire for a quiet, cozy chat, this 
first evening of Bob’s visit. 


122 


IN THE WORLD. 


I should think there could be but oue opin- 
ion,” Bob returned. " Why, Arthur, you’re liv- 
insr in clover ! Mr. Melville must be like the ^enie 
in the * Arabian Nights,’ who comes whenever 
the magic lamp is rubbed, and brings just what’s 
wanted, from carpets and curtains down to the 
last new style of bootjack.” 

"0,1 don’t know about that,” said Arthur, with 
a lio'ht lautrh. "The rooms are all Steve’s affair. 

O O 

You know he is a sort of Aladdin, and can have 
just what he wants without the trouble of rubbing 
the lamp for it.” 

" But this is not his room,” said Bob, taking in 
the whole apartment with a most comprehensive 
and expressive glance. 

" No ; but it w^ouldn’t do to disgrace one’s 
chum, you know,” Arthur replied, easily dismiss- 
ing the subject. "Well, I certainly have no rea- 
son to complain of my situation in New York — a 
pleasant, easy life, not too much to do, and an 
opportunity of seeing some very delightful socie- 
ty. I am not killed with hard work, and have a 
good deal of pleasant play ; so I have no cause to 
grumble — have I ? ” 

"Why, no,” said Bob, "if a good deal of play, 


A LOOK AT LILLIE’S LIFE. 


123 


and not much work, is what you came here for. I 
suppose one’s success in business depends, in a 
great measure, on the amount of interest that is 
put into it.” 

''O, I dare say,” said Arthur, laughing, as he 
lazily lighted his cigar. " But I don’t pretend to 
say, my dear Bob, that I shall ever be a distin- 
guished business man ; indeed, I have no ambi- 
tion to be. I have an excellent opening already 
made for me in this house, and I am content with 
that, without making any special exertion of my 
own. I never said, for a moment, that my tastes 
lay in business.” 

'"Where do they lie? ” said Bob. I don’t think 
he had intended that there should be any bitter- 
ness ill his words ; but Arthur colored a little, as 
if he felt the reproach. His tone, however, was 
as pleasant as before, when he replied, — 

" Well, if you ask me seriously, I think I would 
rather be an artist than anything in the world. 
But where is the use in talking about it? Beg- 
gars can’t be choosers, and it takes money even 
to be able to begin to dabble for one’s living. I 
have none. The old thing, you see. Bob — the 
want of money is the root of all evil.” 


124 


IN THE WORLD. 


” Beggars can’t be idlers any more than choos- . 
ers, that I see,” said Bob, shortly. " It takes money 
to be able to dawdle, as well as to dabble.” 

Arthur took out his cigar, and laughed with 
perfect good-humor. 

see your drift. Bob,” he said, gayly ; ” but 
you know we were always different, and I do not 
yet see the necessity of slaving myself to death, 
and neglecting all the good things of life that 
offer. I can imagine you, a few years hence, 
grinding away at a profession, up at all hours of 
the night, over sick people in the character of a 
doctor, or, possibly, working yourself into your 
grave in some little country pulpit, salary six 
hundred a year! Which is it to be?” 

” I’ll tell you before I begin,” said Bob, good- 
naturedly ; ”I might do worse things than either.” 

” And you’re pretty sure not to do anything that 
isn’t of the best,” said Arthur, rising and coming 
to lean on the back of Bob’s chair. " Well, let it 
go. Bob ; we shall each take our own course, I 
suppose, and no one need complain if we’re sat- 
isfied. But to start a new subject, what do you 
think of Lillie in her native element?” 

”If you mean the ball-room,” said Bob, "I 
haven’t seen her there yet.” 


A LOOK AT LILLIE’S LIFE. 


125 


"Then you’ve never seen her at all,” said Ar- 
thur. "You’ve no idea, Bob, what a charming 
little creature she can be. I always thought her 
pretty at home ; but now she’s fairly in the 'world, 
and has found out her own value there, she is a 
new person, I assure you. She’s the belle of the 
season, every one says ; and how well she knows 
the fact too, the little flirt ! You should see her 
in her new character.” 

"I’d rather see her in the old,” said Bob. "I 
doubt if I should like her better.” 

It was, perhaps, with a view to comparing the 
new and old Lillie Dalton, that Bob betook him- 
self, in the course of the following morning, to 
Mrs. Melville’s house* It was not far from noon ; 
but he had had time to become very well ac- 
quainted with every article of furniture in the 
parlor before Lillie appeared, looking as if even 
now her night’s rest had been interrupted. Her 
face brightened, however, at sight of Bob, and 
she met him with a gay, — 

"Well, Bob, how are you this morning? And 
wLat do you think of me by daylight? We could 
scarcely see each other last night. Sue will want 
to know if I am changed ; and what shall you tell 
her?” 


126 


IN THE WORLD. 


Lillie had received so many compliments Irom 
aunt Bella on her improved ease of manner, her 
increased grace and beauty, that she was hardly 
prepared for Bob’s blunt ” I shall tell her I don’t 
think New York air so good for you as Boston. 
Why, Lillie, I never saw you before with pale 
cheeks ! ” 

” Are they really pale?” said Lillie, running to 
the glass to look. "O. that’s only because I’m 
hardly awake yet. What wonder my cheeks are 
pale, when I’ve been up all night long, and dan- 
cing every evening this week?” 

What did you do it for, then?” said Bob, 
laughing. "You speak as* if there were some 
great merit in it, Lillie.” 

"Not at all,” said Lillie, a little piqued. "I 
have a nice enough time to make up for a good 
many mornings of tired feet and pale cheeks. 
Ah, I shall have a chance to give you a little 
peep of our gay parties before you go back, Mr. 
Bob, and then you won’t wonder that I want to 
go eveiy night.” 

"Yes, I shall,” said Bob, good-naturedly. "But 
come, Lillie, I’ll cure your pale cheeks for you. 
Put on your things, and take a good brisk walk 


A LOOK AT LILLIE’S LIFE, 


127 


with me. It’s just the day for it, and there’s no 
better thing in the world for getting rid of the 
effects of a party.” 

" O, 1 can't,” said Lillie. "It’s too cold; and 
I’m too tired. Why, I never walk nowadays. 
Bob I ” 

"Then you’d better begin on the spot,” said 
Bob; and as he pooh-poohed all her objections, 
answering each fresh excuse with some excellent 
reason, and the merry look in his dark eyes that 
Lillie remembered so well, she gave at last a 
somewhat reluctant consent. 

"But you must stay to luncheon first,” she 
added; "and it is not time for that yet.” 

"Then sit down and play to me while we’re 
waiting,” said Bob ; " and it wdll seem more like 
old times than even the walk.” 

"O, I can’t play nowadays,” said Lillie; ''I’m 
all out of practice. I’ve no time to look at a 
note.” 

" Nonsense ! ” said Bob. " Time ? What else 
have you to do, pray? I thought you knew me 
too well to make company excuses to me, Lillie.” 

He opened the piano, and nodded to her so 
resolutely, that she found herself sitting on the 


128 


IN THE WORLD. 


music-stool without knowing how, and only offer- 
ing the faint protest, ''Well, if you will have it, 
you mustn’t mind poor playing.” 

However, when she had once begun, she was 
so well pleased with her success that she played 
on till the luncheon bell rang. 

"Well,” said Bob, "I thought you had for- 
gotten how to play ! ” 

"So I thought I had,” returned Lillie, with a 
bright face. "But you always do manage to make 
me do just what you choose. Bob; yet it’s true, 
all the same, that I don’t play so well as I used.” 

" Yes, it’s true,” said Bob, simply ; " but it’s 
only because you haven’t cared to take the 
trouble.” 

There was something so absolutely novel to 
Lillie, nowadays, in the perfect honesty with which 
Bob gave frank, straightforward answers where 
other young men would have poured out com- 
pliments, that I am not sure she was not pleased 
even when her vanity might be supposed to suf- 
fer. At all events, she was very sunny all through 
lunch, despite Bob’s candid admission; and the 
pair set out on their walk in high spirits. 

"Do be careful, my love,” Mrs. Melville had 


A LOOK AT LILLIE’s LIFE. 


129 


said, disapprovingly, when Lillie spoke of her 
project. "You are very tired already.” 

"But this is a new hind of tired,” said Lillie, 
" and there is nothing but the opera to-night. Be- 
sides, it will be so like old times ! ” 

Mrs. Melville was not fond of "old times,” but 
Bob and Lillie were, and there were not two 
brighter faces in all New York than the two set 
in the direction of the Park this fine winter morn- 
ing. The air was clear and frosty, the dry, 
sparkling snow still lay, pure and white, on the 
house-roofs, the sky was as blue as on a June 
day, and the roses bloomed on Lillie’s cheeks 
before they had gone three squares. 

"Why!” said she, almost giving a little skip 
as they' crossed the street, "has it been as lovely 
as this all winter without my knowing anything 
about it? Why.haven’t I been out to w'alk every 
morning?” 

" Because you’ve been doing something else,” 
said Bob. "The same reason that you haven’t 
been practising. One can’t do two things at 
once — can they?” 

Lillie made no rejoinder at the time, but after 
they had reached the Park, and were looking at 
9 


130 


IN THE WORLD. 


the gay, animated picture of the frozen lake, 
covered with swiftly-gliding skaters, she suddenly 
said, — . 

" But, Bob, how can I do two things at once ? 
You said, yourself, nobody could. Then why 
should I be blamed if I don’t practise or walk 
when I’m doing something else?” 

”What is the something?” Bob said. 

Going to parties,” said Lillie. "Now, don't 
you laugh at me, Bob ! You don’t knov/ how 
much time it takes. Why, my head is so full of 
it all the time, — then there are so many people 
to see, and such a whirl from morning till night, 
that the day is gone before I know it.” 

"It never pays to live in a hurry,” said Bob, 
laconically. 

" Come,” said Lillie, looking up in his face 
coaxingly, "you know that isn’t a satisfactory an- 
swer, Bob. Now tell me, how can I help neg- 
lecting some things when I have so many others 
to do? There can’t be time for everything^ you 
know.” 

"Everybody has all the time there is,” said Bol). 

" O, dear me ! do talk a little more. Bob ! Why, 
I tell you I want your advice, and you will only 
speak three words at a time I ” 


A LOOK AT LILLIE’s LIFE. 


131 


What do you want advice about, Lillie ? ” said 
Bob, turning towards her. 

"Well, a great many things. I may as well 
speak to you, since Guy isn’t here. I’m not 
always perfectly satisfied, though I am enjoying 
so much, and though I do so dearly love all the 
pleasure I’m having. When I hear of any other 
girl, who is doing something in the world, — 
like Fanny Osborne, for instance, — why, I feel 
as if I were a most contemptible little creature, 
and as if my life were the merest good-for-noth- 
infi thinof. Yet what can I do ? I’ve no time for 
anything else.” 

"I believe, Lillie,” said Bob, looking at her 
with a sudden, quick flash in his dark eyes, " that 
every one has his work to do in the world, and 
there’s time for it all, if one only cares to 
find it.” 

Lillie gave a very disconsolate sigh. 

"I can’t write,” she said, dejectedly. "It isn’t 
in me to do any great thing; but I do believe — 
and I heartily wish sometimes that I had the res- 
olution for it — that I could be a great deal more 
than I am now. But what’s the use of thinking 
about it? The first time any pleasant thing 


132 


IN THE WORLD. 


comes to put it out of my head, away go all my 
good resolutions, and I’m just the little whirligig 
I was before ! ” 

"But surely, Lillie,” said Bob, hesitating a 
little, "if one isn’t satisfied with one’s self, and 
sees just what is needed, it is easy enough to 
change. If parties upset you, and you know it, 
isn’t it possible to give up a few of them? You 
surely wouldn’t wish them to be your work in 
life ; and if they prevent you from doing any- 
thing else — ” 

"O, you don’t understand me yet,” said 
Lillie, shaking her head vehemently. "I am 
such a dreadfully discouraging person to have 
anything to do with, Bob I Why, I can no more 
help doing things that I don’t approve of, than I 
can fly ! It is all well enough for me to talk, in 
quiet morning walks, about giving up parties ; 
but when I get there, I feel as if I wanted noth- 
ing else except to go on dancing. It is all very 
well to resolve at home that I will always say 
just what I mean, and never try to make people 
believe I like them better than I do, when I know 
that, the very next chance I get, I shall be trying 
to make them care about me, and liking it if J 
succeed.” 


A LOOK AT LILLTE’S LIFE. 


133 


"You give yourself a very bad character, 
Lillie,” said Bob, his eyes twinkling merrily, as 
they met hers. 

"It’s all true — every word,” said Lillie, deject- 
edly. "I am just so weak.” 

"It is something, at least, to know it,” said 
Bob, kindly. 

The pair walked on in silence for a moment, 
and then Lillie looked up, with the tears actually 
standing in her blue eyes. " I suppose you think 
me a little fool. Bob, to say all this to you. 
Never mind. I’ve done it, and I’m not sorry. 
Whatever you may think about me, I do care 
about being of some good, only I don’t have any 
one here to mind whether I am or not. You 
don’t know how I wish sometimes for Sue and 
Guy; but since I can’t have them, would you 
mind — we are a sort of cousins, you know — 
would you mind, while you stay here, just giving 
my resolutions a little jog sometimes, when you 
think they need it?” 

"What a strange little creature Lillie was, and 
what an inconsistent little mixture of good inten- 
tions and faulty execution ! As she looked up at 
him with her smiling lips and tearful eyes. Bob 


134 


IN THE WOELD. 


was conscious of a sudden rush of color mount- 
ing to his cheeks and brow. 

”ril try,” was all he said; but that meant a 
good deal with Bob Stanley, and the two words 
were a pretty sure warrant for the fulfilment of 
this second compact between Lillie and himself. 

" What can you see in that young man to like 
so much, Lillie?” Mrs. Melville asked, discon- 
tentedly, after they came home from the opera 
that night — Lillie in high spirits. ” He is noth- 
ing to compare to Arthur ; yet I have never seen 
you half so anxious to please him / ” 

" I like to please people who are hard to 
please,” was all Lillie would reply. 


TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE BROTH. 135 


CHAPTER IX. 

”too many cooks spoil the broth.” 
NJOYABLE as Bob’s visit certainly was, 



i i it was not without some drawbacks ; and 
foremost among these was the secret uneasiness 
on his brother’s account, which increased the 
more he saw of Arthur’s life and associates. 
”An easy time of it,” and the pursuit of pleasure, 
as the avowed ambitions of a young man out in 
the world, are not the most hopeful auguries for 
his future ; nor was the club-room, as a resort, 
with Steve Lenox and his set for daily compan- 
ions, the surest prophecy for Arthur’s welfare, 
considering the ease with wdiich he always drifted 
into temptation. But the time was certainly past 
now when Bob could utter his word of protest. 
Arthur was his own master, and it was surely 
not for his brother to be his judge. So he could 
only hold his peace, keep his uneasiness to him- 


136 


IN THE WORLD. 


self, and hope that Arthur’s easy nature, which 
seemed to glide so lightly over the deeper waters 
of life, would pass a§ smoothly through the dan- 
gerous straits he always seemed to be nearing. 

Bob had still, at least, his old pride in Arthur’s 
personal superiority, and quite gloried in the 
popularity his brother had acquired in New York 
circles. 

" It is quite a pleasure to appear in society in 
company with such ’ swells,’ as Geoflrey would 
say,” he remarked laughingly to Arthur and 
Lillie. "I feel as if it shed quite a halo over 
myself.” 

And Lillie laughed, and told him he should be 
known to the world, on his first appearance, as 
Miss Dalton’s German partner. 

It was the first time Bob had seen Lillie in what 
Arthur called the " full zenith of her powers ; ” and 
as his pleasure in the crowded ball-room, where he 
was almost a stranger, was chiefly in watching 
her, he followed her closely with his eyes. It 
was impossible not to acknowledge that the little 
lady had been right in her candid avowal of her 
faults in society, during that walk in the Park. 
Bob smiled as he saw how Lillie distributed her 


TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE BROTH. 137 


sweet looks, now to this one, now to that, as if 
each in turn had acquired the very foremost place 
in her regard : half an hour after, these same peo- 
ple could scarcely obtain a glance. It was amus- 
ing, too, to see the conscious look of triumph in 
Miss Lillie’s face, as she held her small court in 
the German, and received the offerings of flowers 
and favors which her subjects brought her. I 
think she was secretly pleased that Bob should 
witness this triumph, and was possibly anxious 
(as naughty children are said to be) to ” show off” 
in his presence. At any rate, she made herself 
so particularly charming, that she was scarcely 
allowed a moment to rest between the waltzes ; 
and her empty chair was almost all her German 
j)artner saw of her. Finding it somewhat slow 
work, as his acquaintance among the ladies was 
limited, and his taste for manifold introductions 
but small, Bob was fain to amuse himself with 
watching the various groups who passed and re- 
passed his seat in their promenades up and down 
the wide, cool hall. Occasionally, too, snatches 
of conversation reached his ears. 

"Do you know Mr. Arthur Stanley?” asked a 
certain gauzy-robed young lady, who had several 


138 


IN THE WORLD. 


times passed the open doorway behind Bob’s 
chair. " He seems quite a favorite in society 
this winter, though I never met him in New 
York before.” 

"Boston fellow,” said her attendant cavalier, 
somewhat laconically. (Young men in society 
are said not to enjoy each other’s praises when 
uttered by their fair partners.) 

" Then you do not know him ? He is hand- 
some, I think, and is said to be very intimate with 
Mr. Lenox. Is Mr. Stanley another millionnaire, 
like his friend? ” 

"One might think so,” said her partner, with a 
shrug. " The two seem to be cut out on one pat- 
tern, and Stanley ought to have a pretty long 
purse, judging from the way he lives. But 

that’s no test; these rich mortals. Miss , like 

Lenox, have a way of making all their friends 
do as they do, whether they can afford it or not. 
Stanley may be as poor as a church mouse, for 
aught I know — sorry I can’t satisfy your curi- 
osity more fully.” 

The pair passed out of hearing, and Bob did 
not feel much enlivened by what he had heard. 
Anxiety about Arthur was certainly not a feeling 


TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE BROTH. 139 


he need come to parties to have increased : so he 
turned his attention to another group of talkers, 
in the hope of hearing something more pleasant. 
This time the voices belonged to a knot of young 
men, who leaned against the doorway, chatting, 
and Lillie Dalton seemed the subject of discus- 
sion. 

never saw Miss Dalton look prettier than 
she does to-night,” said one. ”What an atrocious 
little flirt she is, though ! I would give some- 
thing to know who would be the lucky man at 
the end of the season.” 

" Not much doubt, I should say,” returned 
another. ” She won’t look twice at anybody 
else if Steve Lenox is in the room. I’ve 
heard several times already, that it is a settled 
thing; so you may make up your mind to it, 
Tom.” 

”Pooh,” said No. 3. " That’s mere talk. You 

may be pretty sure Steve Lenox has no idea of 
fastening himself down yet ; don’t crush all Tom’s 
hopes, Dick.” 

” I haven’t entered the lists yet,” said the first 
speaker, laughing ; "too many competitors. AVell, 
I only hope Miss Dalton is as sure about Lenox’s 


140 


IN THE WORLD. 


intentions as you seem to be, Harry. I hardly 
think she’d waste so many of her smiles on his 
flinty heart, if she were. You may be sure Mrs. 
Melville knows what she’s about, and, unless I’m 
very much mistaken — ” 

"Unless /’m very much mistaken, she will whis- 
tle for her bird,” said the young man, whom his 
companions called Harry. " As for Miss Daltou’s 
smiles, she is pretty impartial with them; it’s 
* share and share alike.’ I’m not so sure I should 
want Lenox if I were in her place. There’s a 
pretty long score to set against his thousands.” 

"What do you say to Arthur Stanley, now 
we’re on the subject?” said Dick. "There’s a 
match for you ! Very suitable, as the old ladies 
say. Stanley’s with INIr. Melville, you know, and 
Miss Dalton’s got a pretty little sum of her own 
that would just feather his nest — ” 

" Humph ! I’d rather have Lenox’s dollars than 
Stanley’s good looks,” said Harry. "They’re 
about in one boat, for aught 1 can see, except for 
that difference. But I fancy Stanley has had your 
idea himself.” 

And oflf sauntered the young men, leaving Bob 
even less comfortable than before. 


TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE BROTH. 141 


"O, what music!” exclaimed Lillie, dropping 
into her chair at last, wdth a rapturous sigh. 
*'Bob, is it not a charming party? What! 
haven’t you enjoyed it? Dear me! I’m afraid 
I haven’t been an entertaining partner. I ought 
to have refused to dance so much.” 

"Indeed, I’m glad you didn’t, Lillie,” said Bob. 
"You know I don’t care very much for parties, 
under any circumstances, and I certainly did not 
come to-night to spoil your pleasure.” 

Nevertheless, Lillie continued to feel remorse- 
ful, and wondered, to the last minute, why Bob 
had worn such a grave, troubled look. 

I do not w^ant any of my readers to fancy that 
Bob was perfect. I certainly do not intend to 
make him so, whatever good points he may 
have, and how^ever strong a hold on my affec- 
tions his character may have won for him. On 
the contrary, that hot tem^Der of his still re- 
mained, however well under control it might be ; 
all his passions were quick, and easily roused, 
and sometimes his strong feelings became strong 
prejudices. His feeling against Steve Lenox was 
a case in point. Well-grounded as his aversion 
to him certainly was, nobody is entirely defec- 


142 


IN THE WORLD. 


live, any more than entirely perfect. Yet it was 
hard for Bob to allow him one good point. What 
he had overheard from the talk of Tom, Dick, 
and Harry, of Steve’s unmeaning devotion to 
Lillie, made him very indignant, and he was 
quite ready to accept the report as truth, and 
cause for righteous wrath, without pausing to 
weigh it well in the balance. Then, again, Ar- 
thur — could it be, as the young men had said, 
that he was planning to obtain Lillie’s money 
for himself, under pretence of winning her love? 
As Bob asked himself the question, the first pang 
of bitter, rankling envy he had ever cherished 
against his brother darted through his mind. 

Do not fancy that there was any nonsense be- 
tween Bob and Lillie. They had grown up 
together, boy and girl, with a hearty feeling of 
friendship for each other, and with none of the 
unhealthy, sentimental chatter about love-making 
which is such a mockery of the pure, beautiful 
sentiment of love, to disturb their relation. But 
this feeling of warm friendship will often change 
to something warmer, if there is any firm foun- 
dation in it, and on Bob’s side there was a gen- 
uine interest in Lillie that could bear with her 


TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE BROTH. 143 


caprices, and patiently wait for the good beneath 
to come out from the surface froth of vanity and 
frivolity. On Lillie’s side there was the hearty 
respect and regard for Bob which made her 
value his opinion above that of most people. 
So we see that this mutual feeling might some 
day grow still stronger, and Bob’s little pang of 
jealousy was a warning prick. 

It was only a momentary pang, however, for 
jealousy was far too mean a passion for Bob’s 
generous nature to harbor against any one, least 
of all his brother. The thought about Arthur 
was gone as quickly as it came ; Bob would not 
give it place ; but the feeling against Steve Lenox 
still remained, and it was so well grounded that 
he thought it might safely be harbored. 

It is a dangerous thing, always, for young 
people to try to play the part of adviser and 
judge towards each other. There are few young 
heads sufficiently mature, and few young hearts 
sufficiently under control, to do without the wis- 
dom of experience which years must bring to 
every one in a greater or less degree. Lillie, 
we know, had asked Bob to be her adviser and 
helper — to tell her of her faults if he saw them, 


144 


IN THE WORLD. 


and point out the way to cure them if he could. 
Bob, without any overweening conceit, really 
thought he could do this ; but he must first have 
put out of his heart that feeling against Steve 
Lenox, if he were to become an impartial judge. 

So far the new plan had worked admirably, and 
Bob and Lillie only seemed to have drawn closer 
together for their new relation. Bob had such a 
good-natured, whimsical way of criticising Lillie, 
and Lillie took the criticism from him in such 
good part, that they were better friends than ever. 
But, dear me ! how hard it is to know just how 
to stop on the safe side, and how very few^ people 
can help going just a step beyond the boundary 
line ! 

"I can’t go to w'alk to-morrow morning. Bob,” 
said Lillie, one day. Those brisk constitutionals 
were become a regular thing now. 

"It will be almost our last chance,” said Bob. 
" I go home the next day, you know. Is it any- 
thing very important, Lillie ? ” 

"O, no,” said Lillie, carelessly. "Only Mr. 
Lenox has asked me to go out to drive with 
him ill his new sleigh, and we shan’t have this 
snow much longer. It seems a pity to lose a day,” 


TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE BROTH. 145 


Bob was silent for a minute, and sat play- 
ing with the tassel of the sofa-cushion, as if he 
did not quite know how to begin. 

” Lillie,” said he at last, ”you told me you 
wished me to speak to you about yourself when- 
ever I thought there was reason. Were you in 
earnest ? ” 

” Of course I was,” said Lillie. ”What have 
I been doing now. Bob?” 

She looked up with a pretty little air of sur- 
prise, but Bob’s eyes were bent on the carpet. 

Lillie,” said he, hesitating a little, "you dis- 
like Steve Lenox, and you have often said you 
disapprove of him — have you not?” 

"Yes,” said Lillie; "but what of that? I’m 
not talking of him ; I’m talking of his sleigh. I 
mayn’t like his principles, but I may like to dance 
and drive with him — mayn’t I ? ” 

"I think,” said Bob, "that when one dislikes 
a person on good grounds, — honestly disapproves 
of him and his principles, — it is better not to 
give any one reason to think otherwise. If I 
were a girl in society, Lillie, I should think it 
my duty not to seem to countenance any one of 
whom I really disapproved.” 

10 


146 


IN THE WORLD. 


"O, dear me, Bob!” said Lillie, with a little 
toss of her head ; " but you dou’t expect me to 
reform society — do you ? I don’t say I like Mr. 
Lenox, but I don’t see why I should — ” 

" And I don’t see,” said Bob, ” why you should 
make him or any one else suppose you do like 
him.” 

” How can I help what people think?” Lillie 
returned. ”But there I I may just as well be 
honest, and confess that I do like to have Mr. 
Lenox pay me attention, because he is so much 
thought of; and I do like to encourage him — 
well, because it’s my nature to, I suppose I I 
know he doesn’t mean anything, and he knows I 
don’t; so what is the harm? But,” beginning to 
hesitate, "perhaps you mean I am giving other 
people reason to think what isn’t true. Well, 
perhaps you’re right — and possibly — ” 

"I’d better give up the drive,” Lillie was about 
to say. She was easily influenced by people 
whose opinion she really valued, and Bob was 
one of these. What a pity he did not let her 
finish the sentence I But no ; in his eagerness he 
forgot his wisdom, and interrupted with, — 

"Yes, indeed, Lillie, other people are very 


TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE BROTH. 147 


much to be considered in such matters. They 
are ready enough to say now that Steve Lenox is 
amusing himself with you, and that you think 
him ill earnest.” 

What an unlucky speech that was I It was not 
what Bob had meant to say, either ; hut his hasty 
tongue spoke the words almost without his will, 
and when they were said, there was no recall- 
ing them. He stopped, coloring, and Lillie 
exclaimed, — 

” Well, Bob, I’m sure I’m much obliged to you 
for telling me what people say of me ! I don’t 
consider it any of their business what I do, and I 
shall go out to drive with Mr. Lenox if only to 
show them how little I care for their gossip.? 

"I beg your pardon, Lillie,” said Bob, heartily, 
didn’t mean to say what I did. I am sure 
you care if people think you encourage where 
you disapprove.” 

But Lillie would not meet Bob’s bright face 
and outstretched hand. She turned away her 
head, and answered, coldly, — 

"I don’t consider a sleigh-ride any encourage- 
ment of bad principles ; besides, talking of that, 
is Mr. Lenox worse than any one else? I am 


118 


IN THE WORLD. 


sure he and Arthur belong to the same set, and 
go everywhere together. I suppose they are 
both called ' fast ; ^ but you are quite willing I 
should speak to Arthur ! ” 

Bob’s cheek flushed somewhat hotly, though I 
hardly think it was from anger. "I hope you 
don’t consider them quite on a par, Lillie,” was 
all he said ; but Lillie knew, from his tone, that 
she had wounded him in a tender place. So 
the young people were not quite so merry and 
friendly as their wont this evening, and the con- 
versation during dinner was chiefly maintained 
by Mr. Melville and Bob. The former had taken 
quite a fancy to the young man’s frank face and 
straightforward manner ; and now, as they rose 
from table, he said, with a hearty slap on Bob’s 
shoulder, — 

" Come, I’m sorry New York is to lose you so 
soon. Let me see — you’re almost through col- 
lege — aren’t you? What are you going to do 
with yourself ? If you have a turn for business, I 
wouldn’t mind giving you an opening myself.” 

"Thank you, sir;” said Bob; "I am thinking 
of a profession.” 

" Ah ! Law3'er, doctor, or parson ? ” 


TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE BROTH. 149 


" I nm not quite ready to talk of my plans as 
settled yet, sir,” Bob returned, in his reserved 
fashion ; and there the matter dropped. 

But Lillie — the sly little puss — had heard 
what Bob said, and treasured up the words as a 
hint for reconciliation. She was secretly sorry, 
both for her speech about Arthur and for her 
perversity about the drive, and only wanted a 
chance to "make up.” Accordingly, when Bob 
was putting on his coat, in the hall, she slipped 
out, and, while Mr. Melville was pacing the floor, 
talking loudly, his hands behind him, and his 
back turned to the young people, Lillie whis- 
pered, softly, as they shook hands, "I’m sorry I 
said that, Bob. Ah I I know what the 'profes- 
sion ’ is going to be, and I’m sure I’m quite will- 
ing to take a little sermon now and then, if the 
new minister is to be the least bit like uncle 
Arthur. I think you were right too about the 
ride. Good night.” 

And Bob’s hearty grip of Lillie’s hand amply 
expressed both his asked and granted pardon. 
He walked briskly away through the moonlit 
streets, and Lillie tripped back to the parlor, 
both feeling happy in the thought that the 


150 


IN THE WORLD. 


disputed matter was so easily and amicably 
settled. 

But alas ! why will that homely proverb, " Too 
many cooks spoil the broth,” come up so con- 
stantly in every-day life ? As • they went up 
stairs, Mrs. Melville said, glancing from the win- 
dow at the bright moon and dazzling stars, " You 
will have a beautiful morning for your sleigh-ride 
with Mr. Lenox, Lillie.” 

"Yes, it is going to be a bright day,” said 
Lillie, absently. Then, after a moment, she 
added, "But I don’t think I shall go to ride, 
after all, aunt Bella.” 

"Not go!” said Mrs. Melville, with a very 
decided exclamation mark in her voice ; " not go, 
Lillie I Why, my love, have you’ a cold?” 

"O, no,” said Lillie, half laughing; "but I 
don’t think I had better do it. You know I 
don’t like Mr. Lenox very much, and I dare say 
people talk about our being seen together in 
company, and I don’t care to give them any 
reason for it.” 

"I never heard anything so ridiculous in my 
life,” said Mrs. Melville, with great asperity. 
"Who has been talking to you, Lillie? I sup- 


TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE BROTH. 151 


pose it was that impertinent Mr. Kobert Stan- 
ley — it was he who had heard * people talk,’ 
Lillie?” 

"Yes, Bob spoke to me about it,” said Lillie, 
bravely, "and I agree with him, aunt Bella, in 
thinking it best not to encourage people for 
whom you have really no liking or respect. So, 
if I don’t go, it will not be because Bob advised 
me, but because I choose to take his advice.” 

indeed!” said Mrs. Melville, much 
vexed. "I really don’t know what to think of 
you, Lillie. What possible business is it of 
Bob's what you do ? I beg I may not hear an- 
other word of such nonsense from you. I am 
really mortified by your conduct 1 ” 

And away walked Mrs. Melville, in high dud- 
geon, leaving poor Lillie to go to bed in a very 
disturbed frame of mind. 

The morning, however, seemed to have settled 
her difficulties for her, for gray clouds and driz- 
zling mist belied the promise of the beautiful 
night, and Lillie, much relieved at this escape 
from a dilemma, settled herself for a cheerful 
"rainy day.” She looked for Bob to come and 
have a good-by chat, at least, since their walk 


152 


IN THE WORLD. 


must be postponed ; but he did not appear. And 
alas ! as the morning advanced, the gray clouds 
seemed to be growing thinner, the drizzling rain 
stopped. Then from a break in the pale sky 
peeped the sun ; presently appeared the blue sky, 
the pallid sunshine grew golden and bright, and 
lo ! the rainy day had turned into a pleasant one I 
"Well,” said Lillie to herself, "it is past time 
for our drive now, and it would be ridiculous to 
write a note, when I don’t even know that Mr. 
Lenox means to go. I don’t believe there is any 
danger of his coming for me.” 

Misplaced confidence I When Lillie went down 
to lunch, there was Steve Lenox. 

"Good morning, Miss Lillie,” said he; "our 
drive is only postponed for a few hours, you see. 
The snow is too deep to have sufiered much from 
the little rain we have had this morning, and my 
horses are in fine trim. We couldn’t have a 
better afternoon.” 

Lillie glanced at her aunt. "You have no 
engagement for the afternoon, my love,” said 
that lady, resolutely. " Is there any reason why 
you should not go with Mr. Lenox ? ” 

No, Lillie could give none. She was ashamed 


TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE BROTH. 153 


to say she thought Bob might come to say good 
by, and how could she explain to Mr. Lenox, 
with the horses actually at the door, and the 
charioteer hat in hand, that she had changed her 
mind, and decided not to accompany him ? No, 
she was fairly caught, and there was no loophole 
of escape for her. She went up stairs to put on 
her things with a reluctance most unflattering to 
Steve Lenox. 

"But I can explain just how it was to 
Bob, when I see him,” she said to herself. 
" And I do not believe he will come when I am 
away, as he does not leave New York before the 
morning.” 

The horses were swift, the sleigh softly cush- 
ioned, the snow just in sleighing order, and 
Steve the perfection of a driver. But there was 
little enjoyment for Lillie in the drive. She 
seemed to dislike Steve more than ever, his 
smooth compliments, that meant nothing, his cool 
assurance, his lazy, indifferent manner, and worn- 
out smile. She was ev^en impatient, and Steve 
secretly wondered why the little belle was so out 
of sorts. The truth was, it all seemed to Lillie 
very hollow and make-believe, and, as she said to 


154 


IN THE WORLD. 


herself, " the corners of her mouth actually ached, 
with pretending to smile ! ” 

The first object that met her eyes, as she 
entered the house on her return, was a card lying 
on the hall table, its end ominously turned up, 
and a scribbled " P. P. (7.” in the corner. 

" When was Mr. Stanley here ? ” she asked the 
servant. 

” Just after you went, miss. There was no 
one at home, and I told him you was gone to 
drive with Mr. Lenox. He said I was to tell the 
ladies he was obliged to leave by the afternoon 
train, and was sorry not to see them to say 
good by.” 

So he was gone, and Lillie had no chance to 
explain herself I " What a mean little double- 
faced hypocrite he must think me!” she said to 
herself; and, turning, she hurried into the parlor, 
threw herself on the sofii, and indulged, for once, 
in a good, hearty fit of crying. 

Feeling somewhat refreshed by this outburst, 
she rose, and, taking her writing-desk, began 
a hurried little note, writing as fast as if the 
words could reach Bob the sooner for the speed 
with which they were written : — 


TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE BROTH. 155 


Dear Bob : Don’t think me a little humbug, 
as I know you are tempted to. I don’t deserve 
it, really ! I didn’t intend to go to drive this 
afternoon, but I was fairly caught, and had no 
excuse. If I had dreamed that it would clear off, 
I would have written a note to Mr. Lenox. Now 
you will believe me — won’t you? I know I am 
a very good-for-nothing little creature, but I do 
try to be worth something, and I am pretty ready 
to take good advice — am I not? I can’t bear 
that you should go off thinking me a hypocrite, 
for I know you would despise me thoroughly if 
you thought me that, and I do want your good 
opinion, Bob. — 

Lillie looked up for a minute, as she wrote 
these words, as she might have looked at Bob, 
had he been standing there in person, a pleading 
expression in her face, and two great tear-drops 
still hanging on her eyelashes. Mrs. Melville 
was standing by the sofa. 

”Why, Lillie Dalton,” said that lady, "what is 
the matter? You have been crying till your eyes 
are as red as possible, and you won’t be fit to be 
seen this evening.” 


156 


IN THE WORLD. 


"I’m sure I dou’t care if I’m not,” said Lillie. 
"I* shall be heartily glad to stay at home. O, 
aunt Bella, Bob has been to say good by, and 
never left a message for me. So he believes I 
meant to go to drive, all the time, when I as 
good as promised I wouldn’t ! O, aunt Bella, 
you should have helped me say I couldn’t.” 

" And suppose Bob has been here ? ” said Mrs. 
Melville, coolly. "Is it any one’s concern, or 
does any one care what he thinks of you ? ” 

" I care a great deal,” said Lillie, vehemently. 
"I can’t bear to have Bob despise me. I care 
more to have him think well of me than almost 
any one else. Why, aunt Bella, I respect him 
with all my heart, and I love him dearly.” 

"Lillie,” said Mrs. Melville, in measured tones, 
"you really astonish me. I am positively morti- 
fied that a niece of mine should express herself 
so strongly. It might do if you and Mr. Kobert 
Stanley were children ; but for a girl of eighteen 
to speak so of a young man of twenty — I call it 
positively unwomanly I ” 

Lillie sat up and looked at her aunt for a mo- 
ment in silence. 

"Why, aunt Bella,” she said, "what do you 


TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE BROTH. 157 


mean? You know that Bob is almost like my 
brother, and there is no harm in what I say 
about him, unless you put it 

"And I suppose,” said Mrs. Melville, glancing 
at the note, and speaking in the same cool, sar- 
castic tone, "you are writing to the young man 
you 'love so dearly’ to explain your naughtiness, 
and beg his forgiveness. O, Lillie, Lillie I ” 

Mrs. Melville was turning away with a little 
laugh, deeming, perhaps, that she had said 
enough. It had been too much, alas ! for poor 
Lillie. 

She started up from the sofa, her face all on 
fire. 

"Aunt Bella,” she said, "you are absolutely 
cruel. You knliw I am doing nothing wrong, 
and I have nothing to be ashamed of. But there I 
I won't talk about it — you shan’t say such things 
of me — there goes my note ! ” 

She thrust the paper between the bars of the 
grate, turned, and rushing past her astonished 
aunt, flew up to her room, with a choking in her 
throat, which became a sob as soon as the door 
was safely locked. 

So that ofiicious and superfluous "third per- 


158 


IN THE WORLD. 


soR ” had stepped in to disturb a very satisfactory 
relation, and cause much misunderstanding be- 
tween two friends ; and there was a considerable 
amount of heart-burning that night, both in a 
New York ball-room and in the passenger train 
for Boston I 


MORE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 


159 


/ 


CHAPTER X. 


MORE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

Y readers have been sharing Lillie’s gay- 



Xt JL eties in New York for so long, that I am 
afraid they will find it dull and quiet to come 
back to Boston, and settle down in this little room 
in the fourth story of Mr. John Osborne’s house. 
This room has been, since Fanny’s childhood, her 
private and particular haunt : here, in old days, 
she secreted her pet dolls against the mutilations 
of her mischievous brothers; and here, in later 
days, she has kept her precious papers, and 
reared her air-castles till they reached the skies. 
It is quiet, certainly. Fanny is at her desk, and 
Jack, a privileged intruder, sitting by the fire : 
not a sound is to be heard, yet nothing could 
be more bright than the faces of brother and 
sister. Evidently they do not sufier from ennuiy 
and, therefore, I hope that you may not. 


160 


IN THE WORLD. 


I doubt if there were in all Boston a happier 
girl than Fanny Osborne had been since, as she 
said, " she set up for herself in the literary 
business.” She put her whole heart and soul 
into her work, — as, indeed, she did into every- 
thing that she undertook, — and her happy face 
shone like a sunbeam all day long. She was 
very successful, — a rare experience for young 
authors, — and her quick wits and nimble pen 
found a ready market. But if disajjpointment 
had come, instead of success, I am sure her 
brave spirit would not have been daunted; she 
would have kept on in her purpose none the 
less steadily because there were some defeats at 
the outset. It was not only for herself, either, 
that she wrote. Her pen was always at Jack’s 
service, and she was ready at a word to spare 
his tired left hand, and write at his dictation 
as cheerily as if the thoughts were her own. 

Of late, however, her services had been called 
into requisition less and less frequently. Jack’s 
first book had not been followed by anything 
more as yet, and his new material seemed to 
be used but slowly. Fanny would often say 
nowadays, — 


MORE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 


161 


"Jack,, shan’t I write for you? You will really 
lose the thread of your fancies if you leave it 
ravellinof so lon^.” 

O O 

"No, thank you, Fanny,” Jack would answer. 
" I’ll leave the thread alone for to-day, and watch 
you spinning your yarns.” 

He was watching her now, as she wrote, with 
a smile half sad, half tender on his face — look- 
ing at her so fixedly that she became aware, at 
last, of the earnest scrutiny, and raised her head. 

"Why, Jack!” she exclaimed, at sight of his 
grave face. "What is the matter? You look so 
sober ! Are you sad, or lonely, dear?” 

" Not a bit of it,” said Jack, smiling his bright- 
est smile. " I was only meditating. But suppose 
you stop for a few minutes, and come and have a 
chat with me — unless, indeed, Rosalinda is in too 
precarious a situation to be left.” 

"Pshaw!” said Fanny, laughing, and dropping 
her pen on the instant. "If there were any 
'Rosalinda’ in the case, I should like to see the 
' precarious situation ’ that would hinder me from 
coming to talk with you.” 

She sat down on the arm of his chair, and 
rested her hand on his shoulder. 

11 


1G2 


IN THE WORLD. 


"So you are happy, Fan?” Jack began. 

"Am I not? O, Jack, I do feel as if I had 
found my vocation ! I think, if I can only go on 
writing, that I shall be just so happy all my life. 
The only trouble is, that it is too absorbing. I 
feel sometimes as if I were growing to care less 
for people than I used — just as I began by car- 
ing less for parties and pleasures because there 
was something I could make into a pleasure for 
myself. I am sometimes afraid I may grow nar- 
row and selfish.” 

"Never fear, Fanny. People who have such 
wide sympathies as you need not be afraid of 
growing narrow. And as for selfishness, you 
will never have the chance for that while you 
have me to make demands on you.” 

"You, Jack? Why, you never want me to do 
anything for you nowadays. I often wish you 
would ask more, if only for my sake.” 

"Really, Fanny? Would you really like me 
to ask more of you — some great sacrifice, say? ” 

Jack looked at her so earnestly that Fanny 
began to be almost afraid of what he was going 
to say. His tone, and his grave expression of 
a few minutes before, made her fancy there was 
something serious in his mind. 


MORE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 


163 


" O, Jack, what are you going to say? What 
is the matter?” 

"Nothing, goosey!” said Jack, with a caress- 
ing pat on the shoulder. " Nothing to be afraid 
of. I was only going to ask what would induce 
you to lay aside your scribbling for six months — 
or say even twelve?” 

"Very few things,” said Fanny, "if they were 
offered me as an exchange for doing that — as 
a pleasure to myself, I mean. But a word from 
you, if it were only just to gratify a whim of yours. 
Do you mean that you would like me to give it 
up? Am I growing poky, and stupid, and one- 
sided over m}^ desk? If I am, say the word, and 
I’ll lock it up this minute.” 

" Pooh I ” said Jack, looking at her with an ex- 
pression that belied his words. " You know very 
well that there is no danger of my saying that. 
Fan. But it is true that I am going to ask some- 
thing of you that I am afraid you will think a sac- 
rifice. Could you make up your mind, do you 
think, to go to Europe with me?” 

"Could I?” echoed Fanny. "Is that what you 
call a sacrifice? O, you naughty boy I how could 
you frighten me so? But,” as she met his eye, 


164 


IN THE WORLD. 


"you are still grave, Jack. O, don’t say you are 
worse — don’t say you are going because — O, 
Jack ! ” 

She held his hand tightly in hers — it seemed 
as if the words would not come. 

" No, Fanny,” said Jack, "I am not going to 
say anything that will alarm you. Why, I did 
not think Europe such a dreadful thing ! ” 

" It is not Europe, of course. Jack,” said Fanny, 
trying to laugh ; " but when you spoke, I half fan- 
cied, for a moment, you were going to say some- 
thing more. But it wasn’t so — Avas it? You 
only mean you are a little tired of home, and 
think we should be the fresher for seeing a 
little of the world ? ” 

She looked at him as pleadingly as if his say- 
ing the words were all that was needed. Jack 
put his hand on the hand that was laid so be- 
seechingly on his shoulder. 

"I would say anything in the world for you, 
Fanny,” he said, affectionately ; "anything in the 
world I could. But you are a brave girl, able 
to know the truth, and face the Avorst ; you would 
not thank me for trying to deceive you. It is 
true. Fan, that I Avant to go to Europe for some- 


MORE BIRDS OF PASSxlGE. 


165 


thing more than a mere pleasure trip ; it is true 
that I want to try it as a medicine.” 

Fanny mutely raised her eyes and looked at 
him imploringly. 

"My dear girl,” said Jack, smiling, "have I 
said anything to cause such a despairing ex- 
pression as that? I only mean that the little 
there is left of me has been aching more than 
its fair share lately, and I should like to try some 
pleasant kind of medicine.” 

"That is the reason you have given up your 
writing,” said Fanny. " That is the reason you 
have been so quiet and sober. O, my Jack! 
don’t say you are going to leave me now ! ” 
She put her arms round his neck, and her tears 
fell fast on his shoulder. 

"I don’t say anything of the kind,” said Jack, 
brightly. " Come, Fanny, keep up good cour- 
age. You know, dear, it is not for me to say 
or unsay — it will all be ordered for me. But 
come, Fanny, you know we two have agreed 
never to say die ; so don’t you give me the 
rheumatism by 23ouring such a flood of warm 
water on my shoulder, but consider that I’ve 
made you a pleasant ofier of a trip to Europe I 


166 


IN THE WORLD. 


Now tell me, will you give up that beloved 
scribbling for a little, and be a traveller’s com- 
panion ? ’■ 

"I’ll be anything in the world. Jack,” said 
Fanny, lifting her head, and speaking energet- 
ically, " if you will only stay with me ! Or no 
— if you will only promise that you will tell me 
if you think there is any danger that you cannot 
stay.” 

" That I can do,” said Jack, " and I prom- 
ise you I will. So come, Fanny, smile up, as 
our Jimmie used to say, and go back to Rosa- 
linda and the writing-desk.” 

Fanny smiled as brightly as she could ; but 
the little desk was quietly closed, and the 
busy j)en lay idle. Reality, not romance, was 
weighing heavy on Fanny’s heart to-day. 

So two more people were to sail out on the 
wide world of waters, and there was to be a new 
gap in the home circle. 

" There won’t be one of the family left,” la- 
mented old Prissy. " We shall all mope and 
pine to death without you. Miss Fanny. I can’t 
bear to think of you marrying and settling down 
in foreign parts.” 


MORE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 


167 


Who told you I meant to, Prissy?” said 
Fanny, laughingly. ''It’s the first Fve heard 
of it.” 

"O, T know how it is,” Prissy returned, with 
a sage shake of the head. " When girls go ofi* 
nowadays, we all know what will come of it ; 
there’s no getting them back again. We shall 
hear of some French count or German baron 
making love to you. Miss Fanny, and there’s the 
last we shall see of you ! That’s the way with 
all girls.” 

"Nonsense, Prissy. You know I’m never go- 
ing to marry.” 

"O, don’t you suppose I know what that 
means?” said Prissy, with her shrewd little laugh. 
"I’ve heard girls say that before, and I’ve had a 
chance to remind them of it, too, on their wed- 
ding-day I ” 

"Well, at any rate, I shall come home again,” 
said Fanny. "Do you think Jack would desert 
his country at this late day, pray?” 

But Prissy, still unconvinced, still sadly shook 
her head over the house deserted by all its young 
inmates. It seemed, indeed, as if the ranks were 
daily thinning. 


168 


IN THE WORLD. 


"Till I see you again, Fanny,” was Arthur’s 
farewell, as he shook hands with the pair on 
board the steamer in New York, "1 really feel as 
if I should meet you next in London or Paris.” 

"Why, are you thinking of following us?” 
Fanny asked, surprised. 

" No, not especially,” said Arthur, lightly ; " but 
it’s by no means an impossibility. There’s no 
knowing where I may turn up next. Good by. 
Jack; come home a Hercules!” 

As it happened, Arthur’s "possibility” became 
a certainty very soon ; but to tell how it happened, 
I must go back to home matters. 

For the first few weeks after Bob’s return, his 
New York visit was much in his mind. It was 
undeniable that he had been disappointed in 
Lillie. They had been so drawn together in the 
old days of Guy’s imprisonment, that the friend- 
ship then formed had rested on a very firm foun- 
dation, and it was hard for either to begin to 
think less of the other ; but Bob could not but 
acknowledge to himself now that he was bitterly 
disappointed. Of course it was not the drive 
with Steve Lenox, alone — that, in itself, v/as a 
very small thing. " But why need she have 


11 ORE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 


169 


tried to make me suppose she intended to give 
it up?” he repeated to himself. ” There was 
surely no necessitj^ for pretending to care so 
much for my opinion ! ” 

These thoughts, for a time, were very often 
in Bob’s mind, till, at last, ashamed of thinking 
so much about what was "really not worth so 
much thought,” as he told himself, he deter- 
mined to try to put them out of his head. It 
was his last college term, and Seniors are apt to 
put on the spurs as the last days of their college 
life draw near. Bob had never, indeed, been a 
laggard, but he now turned to his books with 
double zeal, because there was something he 
w'anted to forget, and, so absorbed, had not quite 
his usual watchfulness for other matters. 

"Bob,” said his father, one evening, — the win- 
ter days were over now, and tardy spring was 
really beginning, — " don’t you think Jimmie is 
looking miserably?” 

"I haven’t thought of it, sir,” said Bob, with a 
start. " But, indeed, I haven’t observed him as 
much as usual lately.” 

"Just notice him, when you see him again,” 
Mr. Stanley said, quietly, and no more was said 


170 


IN THE WORLD. 


on the subject ; but Bob went out to Cambridge 
that night, feeling self-reproached, and resolved 
that no second thought should come in, hence- 
forth, between his attention and the care for Jim- 
mie, which had alwaj^s occupied so prominent a 
place in his mind. 

It was his earliest morning thought, and, as 
the classes assembled in the chapel for prayers, 
his eyes sought out Jimmie among the crowd of 
Freshmen. He noticed not only that his face 
looked pale and thin, but that it wore a haggard, 
anxious expression, quite different from Jimmie^s 
ordinary" happy serenity. How little Jimmie had 
been to his room of late, and how seldom he had 
sought him out ! 

As they went out of chapel he hurried after 
his brother, to say a word. 

” Why, Jim, where have you been lately? 
You’re not looking well, old fellow ! What is 
the matter, and why have you cut me so ? ” 

”I haven’t meant to,” said Jimmie ; ”but we’ve 
both been so busy. Bob ! ” 

And then both brothers hurried in to breakfast, 
and the explanation of Jimmie’s pale looks was 
postponed. With Bob’s first leisure moment, 


MOKE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 


171 


however, he went to Jimmie’s room. He was 
out ; but his chum — a rare occurrence ! — was 
sitting quietly at the table. A book was before 
him — (another exceptional thing) — but his eyes 
were not on it. He was sitting with his face 
buried in his hands, looking so unlike the merry, 
boisterous Charley Osborne, that Bob stopped 
short, astonished. 

" Wh3% Charley ! ” laying his hand on the 
boy’s shoulder. What are you thinking about? 
Where’s Jim?” 

Charley looked up. "O, is it you. Bob? I 
believe I did not hear you come in. I was think- 
ing of that poor fellow — I can’t get him out of 
my head ! ” 

"Whom do you mean, Charley? Of whom are 
you talking?” 

"Haven’t you heard, then?” said Charle3^ 
"Don’t you know Lane, in our class? He is a 
poor student, tiying for a scholarship. He comes 
from the country, and has no friends here ; but 
he’s a splendid fellow, and we’re all fond of him. 
He was taken sick last week. I don’t know what 
his illness is ; but Jimmie and I, and one or two 
other follows, have been taking it turn and turn 


172 


IN THE WORLD. 


about to sit with him by day and watch with him 
by night. You know he’s alone. O, Bob, if you 
could only have seen his room, just as bare as a 
barn, and the poor fellow tossing on his bed 
there, and talking the Avildest nonsense ! He’s 
worse to-day than he’s been yet. I can’t get him 
out of ray mind.” 

Charley covered his face with his hands, and 
actually shuddered. 

"And you boys don’t even know what’s the 
matter with Lane ? ” said Bob. " Has he had no 
doctor, then?” 

"Yes, he has now ; a lot of us fellows clubbed 
together to have him taken proper care of. But 
it’s too late. I’m afraid — it had been going on for 
several days before we found it out, and he had 
done nothing. He’s as proud as Lucifer, Bob, 
and would always find some excuse for keeping 
us away from his room. So we never knew how 
he lived, actually starving himself to get money 
for books, and then studying enough to kill him- 
self! We should never have known it, if we 
had not got frightened by missing him at recita- 
tions, and gone to look him up. He might have 
died like a dog, in the very midst of us, with 


MORE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 


173 


not a soul to speak to him — and now it’s too 
late ! ” 

Charley’s grief communicated itself to Bob, in 
spite of his alarm for Jimmie. 

"Why didn’t you boys come to me?” he said. 

"It would have been no use. You could not 
have done any more for him than we. And Jim 
said you were 'cramming’ for examination, and 
oughtn’t to be worried.” 

Bob again felt self-reproached, however un- 
justly ; but his uneasiness for his delicate brother, 
hanging night and day over the sick bed, would 
not let him pause to weigh the evidence against 
himself. 

"Is Jimmie with Lane now?” he asked. "It 
seems cruel to say a word when the poor fellow is 
so friendless ; but it W'as very imprudent of you 
boys to go without even knowing what the illness 
was. Is Jimmie there?” 

"Yes,” said Charley, rising, "just gone. I’ve 
but just got back from Lane’s room myself. 
Come, Bob, I’ll show you the way.” 

And the two boys went together to the sick- 
room. It was a sad scene on which Bob opened 
the door. A room which, it was evident, had 


174 


IN THE WORLD. 


been stripped of everything but the barest neces- 
saries, till the loving hands of the sick boy’s 
classmates had supplied what was missing there. 
But not even these could make up for the long- 
continued privation, the long, proud struggle 
with hunger, and cold, and want of rest, which 
the poor fellow had fought out so manfully, and 
had hidden so resolutely from the sight and 
knowledge of his fellows. It was too late now — 
one glance at the fever- wasted frame, wild eyes, 
and restless limbs, told that — too late! yet 
surely, even in his delirium, poor Lane must feel 
that some one was near to supply, as well as 
might be, the far-away mother’s love. Ah, a 
mother’s love and care can be but ill supplied, 
however ready the hearts that offer them, and the 
good will of these young nurses was a cloak that 
must needs cover many defects of judgment. 
The sun was pouring its bright rays through the 
uncurtained windows, and heating still more the 
fevered patient ; half a dozen anxious classmates 
were doing their best, in their anxiety for their 
comrade, to deprive him of the air and quiet that 
were so essential to him. By the bedside sat 
Jimmie, so absorbed in his care for his friend, 


MORE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 


175 


that he never once raised his head as his brother 
entered, or knew he was there till he touched 
his arm. 

”0, Jimmie,” said Bob, the thought of the 
anxiety at home coming up before him at sight 
of the delicate face and sad eyes that were raised 
to meet his, "you should not be here.” 

Jimmie only pointed to the dying boy, whose 
hot hand he held. 

" He has no one but us. Bob,” was all he said. 

A few words from Bob quickly cleared the 
room of the other boys. A whispered consulta- 
tion on the stairs elicited the fact that no very 
able physician had as yet been called in to take 
charge of the case, and, with a commission to 
one of the self-imposed nurses to procure one. 
Bob returned to the bedside and Jimmie. Anx- 
ious as he was for him, it was hard to tear him 
away from his dying friend. 

"Don’t think me hard, Jimmie,” he said, 
softly, kneeling down by his brother; "no one in 
your place could have helped going to this poor 
fellow. But, Jim, dear, you must think a little 
of ^murself now — it is no use any longer.” 

"No, it is no use,” said Jimmie, letting Lane's 


176 


IN THE WORLD. 


hand drop on the counterpane. ** O, Bob, he was 
such a noble fellow, and I loved him so I O, it 
does seem as if we might have done more for 
him I ” 

And Bob had not the heart to urge him fur- 
ther, or say a word more to induce him to leave 
his comrade. An unexpected adjunct, however, 
arrived in the person of the doctor, whose pres- 
ence seemed to relieve Bob at once of half his 
anxiety. 

"Very reprehensible that he had not been sum- 
moned before,” the doctor said, "and strange that 
any one with pretensions to medical knowledge 
should have opened the sick-room door to all the 
poor fellow’s classmates. Do they want to have 
scarlet fever all through the college, pray? Ah, 
poor fellow,” with a glance at the bed, " not much 
hope there. Only think of our knowing so little 
of what goes on in our very midst ! Well,” 
checking himself, with a quick glance at Jimmie, 
" let the evil stop here, at least ; and you, my boy, 
go to your own room as quickly as may be, if I 
am not to have you on my hands, as Avell.” 

Ominous as the warning sounded in Bob’s ears, 
he was but too thankful to see Jimmie descend 


MORE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 


177 


the stairs, and to follow him, bitterly reproaching 
himself for his real or fancied neglect. 

Presentiments of evil are not always verified, 
and though, but a few days after, poor Lane 
was taken to the home from which he could never 
be an exile, and the badge of crape on every arm 
among his classmates was but a trifling emblem 
of the heavy grief and loss felt by so many 
young hearts, Jimmie was not the doctor’s next 
patient. His delicate frame seemed, strange to 
say, to have withstood the fever that attacked 
Charley Osborne, and so many of his sturdier 
comrades; but instead, the shock and grief, as 
well as the exposure, seemed to have prostrated 
Jimmie. He had no settled illness, but a sort of 
weariness and languor appeared to have come 
over him. He grew daily more thin and pale, 
and lacked even the energy needful for his be- 
loved studies. Occasionally, too, a hollow cough 
would make Bob start and look at Jimmie with 
increased anxiety. • 

At last one evening, when the boys — as was 
often the case during term time — had made one 
of their flying visits to the dear old family home, 
Mr. Osborne, coming into the dim twilight par- 
12 


178 


IN THE WORLD. 


lor, found Jimmie iu his old place on the sofa, 
before the fire, 

''Dreaming day-dreams, as usual, little wise- 
head?” he said, playfully. (To Mr. Osborne, his 
grandsons would always be the boys they had 
been years before.) 

"No, grandpapa,” said Jimmie, raising his 
head, with a long sigh, "I believe I was trying to 
get used to the idea that they were only day- 
dreams, and would never be anything more.” 

"What do you mean, my boy?” said Mr. Os- 
borne, struck by the sadness of the tone. 

Jimmie drew the old gentleman down beside 
him, and softly stroked his hand, in the loving, 
gentle way that was as characteristic of him at 
fifteen as at nine. 

"I mean, dear grandpapa,” said he, "that I 
have had to learn that I can’t do what I used to 
do, and what I thought I always could. It is no 
use — there is something gone out of me that 
used to be there. I must give it all up — college, 
and all I had hoped to do there. I don’t want to 
complain, but I can’t help feeling it a little hard, 
at first.” 

" What, Jimmie, my boy ! ” exclaimed Mr. 


MORE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 


179 


Osborne, in his impulsive fashion; "you’re not 
disheartened about yourself, surely ? — not dis- 
coui-aged because you’re not quite a Hercules? 
No, no, you mustn’t talk of giving out while my 
old bones are active still. Come, come ! ” 

And he patted Jimmie’s shoulder, as if to coax 
him out of some whim. 

But Jimmie shook his head gently. "I don’t 
want to seem fanciful about myself,” said he ; 
"but I can’t help knowing that I am not able 
nowadays to do what I. used. I can’t seem to 
keep my head fixed on what I am about. I think 
it is because I am so bodily tired all the time ! ” 
Jimmie spoke as if apologizing for some fault, 
rather than as if lamenting some misfortune. 

"But, Jimmie, my boy,” said Mr. Osborne, 
trying to quiet his own fears, excited by Jimmie’s 
words, " it is only a temporary thing, you know ; 
only because you have not, been well, from ex- 
posure to the fever. You must go away for a 
time, and rest, and we shall have you coming 
home again, as well as ever.” 

Jimmie’s face suddenly lighted up, as if that 
had been the medicine in his own thoughts. 

"I will tell you what it is,” said Mr. Osborne, 


180 


IN THE WOPwLD. 


his spirits rising with the dawning of a new idea ; 
*'you must go to Europe. There is nothing like 
that for curing all sorts of troubles ; you must go 
after Jack and Fanny. Say the word, my boy, 
and you shall start to-morrow, and Bob shall go 
with you, to look after you ! ” 

Again Jimmie’s face brightened, as if some 
very pleasant thing rose up before him. But he 
only said, slowly, — 

” Yes, I should like that so very much ! Thank 
you, grandpapa; there is nothing that could be 
better, only — I can’t ask Bob to go with me. I 
couldn’t bear to have him give up his last col- 
lege term, his Class day, and his oration, when 
he has been studying so hard. Then, too, I 
know what Bob wants to do in the world, and 
I couldn’t bear to keep him back for me — no, 
I can’t ask him.” 

"Then I shall,” said his grandfather, resolutely. 
" I am very sure your health is not to be sacri- 
ficed for Bob’s plans. He is not established in 
life yet, as Arthur is, and there would be no real 
break, which w^ould be disadvantageous to his 
prospects. I shall speak of it to Bob, the very 
next time I see him, and I’ll engage that he shan’t 
refuse.” 


MORE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 


181 


''Eefuse!” echoed Jimmie; "no, be wouldn’t 
do that ; he would be only too ready to give up 
everything for me, as he always does. It is I 
who don’t want to have him go. Now, promise 
me, grandpapa, that you won’t say one word 
about it. I am sure that some other way will 
turn up for me, if I am to go.” 

There was no resisting Jimmie when he asked 
anything, and Mr. Osborne reluctantly promised. 

This faith of Jimmie’s that if " he was to go, 
some other way would turn up for him,” was 
speedily seen to rest on a firm foundation. A 
few days after, the postman brought a letter from 
Arthur, — one of his easy, entertaining epistles, 
— in which, after writing pleasantly of various 
unconnected matters, he ended up with (quite as 
a matter of course) , — 

"By the way, you must not be surprised if you 
see me in Boston again very soon after this 
reaches you. I know you considered me a fix- 
ture for life in New York; but the fates have 
ordained otherwise. Mr. Melville and I have 
amicably agreed to proceed, each on our separate 
way, and neither business nor New York has 
any further attraction for me. So I shall come 


182 


IN THE WORLD. 


back to Boston — very opportunely, as I flatter 
myself ; for, from something grandfather has 
written, I gather that a European tour is being 
talked of, and I shall arrive just in time to be 
Jimmie’s favored escort, and to allow Bob leisure 
for his beloved grindstone ! There is nothing I 
should more enjoy for myself than a trip to Eu- 
rope. So all parties are satisfied. With love 
till I see you, &c.” 

” Arthur coming home ! ” exclaimed Mr. Os- 
borne. "Arthur going to give up business, and 
dissolve his connection with Mr. Melville I But 
what does it all mean?” 

And that is just what I am going to tell you. 


PEEPS BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 


183 


CHAPTER XI. 


PEEPS BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 

HERE are two peeps which I propose to 



JL give you, or, perhaps I should say more 
correctly, a peep behiud two different curtains. 
The first one rises on Arthur and Steve Lenox, 
sitting in the room which had so impressed Bob 
with its luxuriousness. But neither the beauty 
nor the comfort ‘of his surroundings seems to 
have attractions for Arthur to-day. His face, as 
he leans back in his arm-chair, moodily drum- 
ming with his fingers on the table beside him, is 
gloomy enough. 

Nothing could be a greater contrast than the 
face of his companion, who leans against the 
mantel-piece, in his old attitude, and looks, with 
his old, lazy, satirical smile at Arthur’s down- 
cast fiice. 

” Come, cheer up, Arty I ” he said, at last, 


184 


IN THE AVOKLD. 


when he had quietly smoked out his cigar, and 
patiently waited for his friend to speak. "You 
are enough to give one the blues to-night ! You’re 
not the first fellow, man, who has got into dif- 
ficulties. Indeed, it’s a question whether you’ve 
ever been fairly out of them yourself. So what’s 
the use of such a long face as that ? I must beg 
that you will be better company.” 

" I wish I could, with all my heart, Steve,” 
said Arthur; "but I cannot see anything very 
enlivening in my prospects to get up my spirits 
on, and your remark about my normal condition 
isn’t calculated to help me. I tell you I am 
driven desperate for money.” 

Steve only raised his eyebrows, and shrugged 
his shoulders. 

" It has always been my curse,” said Arthur, 
with something very like a groan, "to be thrown 
with people like you, Steve, who only need to 
put your hand into a magic purse to find it filled. 
It takes little enough time to get to the bottom 
of mine ! ” 

" Is it empty ? ” asked Steve, with his indolent 
laugh. "Then go to work, and fill it. You 
came to New York to devote yourself to your 
business.” 


PEEPS BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 


185 


I hate my business ! ” said Arthur, almost 
angrily. "I came to York to make money, 
and thanks to old Melville’s limited confidence in 
my powers, and, I suppose, to my hatred for the 
business, I find it a hard thing to do.” 

" Then beg or borrow some ! ” said Steve, 
with another shrug. 

Arthur made no reply. 

"Or,” went on Steve, airily, "if you’re tired 
of that, do the one thing left, and steal some I 
O, you needn’t be oflTended. I have no eye to 
old Melville’s safes and strong boxes. There’s a 
very legitimate course of robbery open to needy 
adventurers nowadays — though stealing is a very 
hard name to apply to a legal appropriation of 
another’s funds — a mutual benefit society ! ” 

" I don’t know what you’re talking of, Steve,” 
Arthur interrupted, impatiently. 

" No ? Why, I was only recommending to you 
a mariage de convenance. Marry some pretty 
girl, who combines solid attractions with her 
other charms, and fill that poor, empty, gaping 
purse of yours ! ” 

Still Arthur made no reply : he was in no 
mood for Steve’s raillery. 


186 


IN THE WORLD. 


*'Ancl, speaking of old Melville,” went on his 
imperturbable counsellor, "he offers, I am sure, 
a helping hand. True, there is a popular preju- 
dice against helping one’s self out of a neighbor’s 
money-box, but none against appropriating his 
niece. What can be more apropos than the 
pretty Lillie, with her comfortable little prop- 
erty, her expectations from her uncle, and her 
liking for yourself?” 

Arthur looked up with something like a start. 
"Rumor says you have designs of your own in 
that quarter, Steve.” 

"Rumor very often lies,” returned the 3^oung 
man, cooll^^; "besides, I never stand in the light 
of a friend in need ! Come, Arthur, you’re not 
disinclined to that, surely?” 

"But there are two sides to most questions,” 
said Arthur, laughing a little nervously. "You 
forget that Lillie herself might not fall in so 
. readily with your pleasant scheme.” 

"O, pooh I ” returned Steve, with his well- 
assured ease; "you have your way all paved for 
you, Arthur. Nothing could be pleasanter than 
your present relations with Miss Lillie, and I’ll 
trust to your attractions and her vanity for im- 


PEEPS BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 


187 


proving it. Come ! think over my suggestion, 
man, and have the grace to thank me for my 
disinterestedness. Meantime, show your grati- 
tude, and oblige me by getting rid of a little of 
your taciturnity ! ” 

The other curtain draws up on Mrs. Melville’s 
parlor, that lady, and her niece. 

”I really am vexed with you, Lillie,’^ she said, 
in a tone that was quite in accordance with the 
declaration. "Ever since the visit of that very 
impertinent and officious young man, you haven’t 
been yourself in the least. Now, I do not at all 
object to caprice when it is not carried too far. 
You know I have often told you that it heightens a 
girl’s attractions. But all things in moderation; 
and I can assure you, Lillie, that, if you perse- 
vere in the distant, cold manner you have adopted 
in society lately, you will end by being anything 
but a belle ! ” 

As Lillie deigned no reply, Mrs. Melville 
went on : — 

"I will not say a word about Mr. Lenox. You 
know as well as I, Lillie, that he is not a young 
man to be trifled with. I am sure your own good 
sense will show you what you are throwing away 


188 


IN THE WORLD. 


there, without the necessity of my pointing it out. 
But in other directions I must recommend a dif- 
ferent manner to you. I should be too much dis- 
appointed if the season were to pass and find you 
uneD^a«fed ! ” 

Mrs. Melville always spoke of life as one vast 
" German,” in which the object was to obtain eli- 
gible partners, and where the unengaged might 
go to the wall ! Of course the ill effects of such 
views could not but be felt by the niece, who 
had grown up under her influence ; yet they were 
so repugnant to Lillie’s true nature that she often 
openly expressed her aversion of them. 

"Aunt Bella,” she exclaimed, impatiently, "it 
makes me perfectly sick when you talk like 
that ! I might do worse things, surely, than go 
through one season unengaged. I declare, when 
you speak of marrying, in that way, you make 
me feel as if I hated the whole thing, and would 
never go into society again. You sometimes 
make me want to say I believe I will never 
marry at all.” 

" My love,” said Mrs. Melville, alarmed, "I am 
sure, for my sake, you will never wish to say 
that. I don’t want to vex you, dear. I will not 


PEEPS BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 


189 


say a word about 'eligible young men’ if it of- 
fends your delicacy. I only recommend, for your 
own good, that you should be more generally 
affable. No girl likes to be less popular at 
the end than at the beginning of the season ; 
yet I can see that even Arthur, who is on such 
friendly terms with you, is quite frozen and re- 
pelled by your new manner.” 

Little as Lillie appeared to heed her aunt’s 
words, there was one weak spot — that of 
a girl’s sensitive vanity — where they sank in, 
and took root. Shrewd Mrs. Melville w'as wo- 
man of the world enough to know this fact, and 
be sure that that last quiet little innuendo of 
hers would hit the mark. Lillie had not been 
very happy of late ; she had been deeply hurt at 
the thought of Bob’s undeserved opinion of her, 
and, with him in her mind, had insensibly tried 
to get rid of some of the society faults he had 
so frankly pointed out to her. Besides, with 
blunt, honest Bob so vividly before her, the hol- 
lowness of many of these fashionable young men 
w’as really distasteful to Lillie. Her manner only 
expressed what she sometimes felt — a sort of 
weariness and satiety of society life. 


190 


IN THE WORLD. 


But now it was different : those well-chosen 
words of Mrs. Melville’s had roused the slum- 
bering demon again, and, when she laid her head 
on the pillow that night, she was repeating to 
herself, rebelliouslj, — 

" No ; nobody shall say I am not the belle I 
was. They shall admire me, if I have anything 
to do with it ! ” 

In such matters, to resolve is to carry out ; and 
for a week after, Mrs. Melville surely had no rea- 
son to complain of her niece’s manner. 

"You’re like yourself again now, Lillie,” said 
Arthur, one evening. " You have been so 
stately these last few weeks that you’ve actually 
frightened me.” 

" You needn’t have shown it quite so plainly,” 
said Lillie, with a half-smiling pout. " It is 
enough to make one want to try something dif- 
ferent, when everybody seems inclined to run 
away I ” 

"That was all your fancy,” said Arthur. "But, 
talking of trying something new, how would you 
like me to try something different too? Will you 
give me leave ? ” 

" I have nothing to say about it,” said Lillie, 


PEEPS BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 191 

indifferently. "You are perfectly free to do as 
you choose, so far as I am concerned.” 

" Eeally ? ” said Arthur. " Then I shall avail 
myself of the permission at once.” 

Light and laughing as Arthur’s tone had been, 
there was yet something in it which almost 
alarmed Lillie. She really felt as if he were 
going to do or say something in earnest, and, 
though she had not at all understood his mean- 
ing, she felt half afraid to have it come. 

She had had time, however, to forget all about 
it before a note came to her, which she opened 
carelessly, thinking it some little, trifling com- 
munication from Arthur. 

Dear Lillie : You told me, some days ago, 
that I might, so far as you were concerned, 
"try something different.” I meant in my de- 
meanor towards you. Yet I do not believe, on 
second thoughts, that this change will be quite 
so unexpected to you as I gave you reason to 
suppose. I wish, unless you tell me not, to 
come and explain myself to you more fully this 
evening. 

A. S. 


192 


IN THE WORLD. 


What did it all mean? Lillie looked at the 
mysterious note for a few minutes in a sort of 
stupefied amazement; then, crumpling it up, 
thrust it into the fire, resolved to forget all about 
it till evening should bring Arthur to explain. 

No girl, however, can be quite unconscious 
of what is meant under such circumstances, and 
Lillie’s heart quite fluttered as she walked into 
the parlor to meet the guest who had just been 
announced. 

Arthur was standing by the window, waiting, 
somewhat nervously, it seemed, for Lillie’s ap- 
pearance ; and now that she had come, both 
young people seemed a little uncomfortable. 

"I am sure,” Lillie had once said, in one of 
her perverse fits, to Fanny Osborne, — ”I am 
sure I should like nothing better than to hear 
people tell me they cared for me, whether I 
could give them what they wanted in return or 
not. I really think I should enjoy giving them 
the chance to say it, if I knew, ever so well, what 
my own answer would be.” 

” I know better,” said Fanny ; and although 
Lillie had persisted at the time in the avowal, 
she found out how well founded Fanny’s opin- 


PEEPS BEHIND THE CURTAIN, 


193 


ion had been, by her own constrained feelings. 
It was mere nervousness and longing to have it 
over that made her exclaim almost impatiently, 
as she threw herself back on the sofa,* — 

” What did you write me such an absurd note 
for, Arthur? What could 3^ou mean? ” 

"Wh}^” said Arthur, coming away from the 
window, with an uncomfortable little laugh, 
"will it need so much explanation? — can’t you 
imagine, Lillie?” 

"No, indeed, I can’t,” said Lillie, positively. 
" You must tell me yourself, Arthur, if you ex- 
pect me to understand you.” 

Arthur sat down, and for a few minutes both 
parties were entirely silent. How strange that 
at such a time Arthur’s natural ease and grace 
should have wholly deserted him ! But it re- 
quires a consummate hypocrite to feign success- 
fully in cases like the present one, and Arthur, 
with all his faults, was very far from being that. 
So he sat for a few minutes nervously drawing 
the pattern of the carpet with his cane, and feel- 
ing Lillie’s eyes fixed upon him. When he spoke, 
at last, it was with an^dhing but his usual happy 
ease of expression. 

13 


194 


IN THE WORLD. 


” I don’t think, Lillie, that what I ara going to 
say will surprise you so very much. I am sure it 
is not the first time you have ever thought that 
I cared for you — is it ? ” 

Lillie opened her blue eyes wide for a moment, 
then replied, with the utmost calmness, " Yes, in- 
deed, it is.” 

Her tone might well have discomfited Arthur, 
but, rallying from his chagrin, he said, — 

" Is it so very unnatural that I should speak of 
such things, Lillie? I thought they were talked 
of, for us, some years ago.” 

*'0,” said Lillie, with the same air of decision, 
if that is all you mean, I am not so much 
surprised. Yes; aunt Bella has always talked 
about our flirting ever since I was twelve ; but 
why do you speak of that so seriously? You 
made me think 3^ou were in earnest.” 

"And was I not?” said Arthur, rising, and 
coming to Lillie’s sofa. " Is it so utterly im- 
possible that I should have grown to feel for 
you in earnest what we only laughed about once? 
Is it so impossible that I should have come to ask 
you the question whether you cannot feel for me 
in earnest too?” 


PEEPS BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 


195 


No, it would not quite do. Eagerly as Arthur 
spoke now, there was something in his tone 
which was different from the earnestness and 
depth of noble, self-forgetful love. Still, his 
eagerness had its effect on Lillie : she began to 
lose her calmness, and to grow agitated; she 
bent down her head, and made no answer, while 
the hand that rested on her lap even trembled. 

"It is so far from impossible to me, Lillie,” 
said Arthur, growing warmer, " that I have come 
to tell you how much I love you, and to ask you 
if you can give me your love in return. Do 
you believe I am in earnest now?” 

As he spoke he tried to take Lillie’s hand, but ‘ 
she drew it away. 

" Do you believe me now, Lillie ? ” he repeated, 
for she did not speak. 

Then Lillie raised her eyes, and looked him 
full in the face. 

"No, Arthur, I do not,” she said, quietly. 

For a moment Arthur flushed, and his eyes fell 
before hers, as if he were detected in some 
deceit. But his self-possession did not so easily 
desert him ; and besides, Lillie’s very reserve 
urged him on. 


196 


IN THE WORLD. 


" I have given you no reason to disbelieve what 
I say, Lillie,” he said, vehemently, *'and you are 
doing me great injustice if you think me insin- 
cere in what I say to you now. I do love you, 
and I ask you again, in all sincerity, if you can 
love me.” 

Lillie’s lip trembled, but she made a vigorous 
effort to control herself, and answered, — 

” No, I cannot.” 

Arthur’s face fell, but, before he could utter a 
word, Lillie had burst out passionately, — 

” And I will tell you why, Arthur — because I 
do -not believe that you really love me. Say 
what you please, I am sure of it. I don’t know 
why you want me, but I am sure it is not for 
myself ; and I do not understand how you dare 
to come and ask me to love you ; but if you 
asked me in ever such earnest, I could not 
do it!” 

Arthur’s face flushed now with something more 
than mere embarrassment, but he controlled him- 
self admirably, and only said, — 

"You do not tell me why, Lillie.” 

"But I will tell you,” said Lillie, while the 
indignant tears filled her eyes. "It is because, 


PEEPS BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 


197 


Arthur, I could never love any one enough to 
marry him, unless I could look up to him, and 
respect him with all my heart and soul ! I don’t 
care for very much else, whatever people say, 
but I do want that! I am just a weak little crea- 
ture myself, and when I marry, I want somebody 
strong to set me right ! And now that you have 
asked me, I will tell you plainly that you could 
never do this. You haven’t strength enough to 
keep yourself straight — you know it is so ! I 
declare, I can hardly help crying sometimes, 
when I hear people talk of you as if you were 
one of Mr. Lenox's ”fast set,” when I know how 
different you ought to be, with such people as 
uncle Arthur and Bob belonging to you. I de- 
clare, I can hardly — . But there, it is no use foi 
me to talk of it. No, I can never, never, never 
love you ! I tell you so just as much as I should 
if j^ou were in earnest in loving me.” 

" Really, Lillie,” said Arthur, beginning to lose 
patience, and crimsoning at Lillie’s words, ”you 
might, at least, treat me wdth common courtesy, 
if you cannot give me the answer I hoped to 
hear. I certainly have not insulted you, even if 
my proposal were an unwelcome one.” 


198 


IN THE WORLD. 


^'Yes, you have,” said Lillie, her breast heav- 
ing; "that is just what you have done, Arthur. 
I call it an insult, when any man, no matter who, 
comes and pretends to care for me, when, all the 
time, he is only thinking of his own advantage. 
There, I can’t talk any more. Love? No ! That 
isn’t the kind of love I want. I wish you would 
go, please. It makes me cry only to think of it.” 

Arthur, discomfited, mortified, and angry, 
needed no second bidding to go. The front door 
shut with a loud clang, and Lillie, burying her 
face in the sofa-pillows, cried to her heart’s con- 
tent. Frivolous as some people thought her, this 
little maiden had a very high ideal of what true 
love should be, and her feelings had received a 
rude shock from what she justly deemed Arthur’s 
counterfeit of it. 

Now, as we are very apt to fancy, when our 
vanity and self-love are wounded, and our false 
pretences exposed, that it is our sensitive feelings 
which are hurt, Arthur chose to fancy, after his 
parting from Lillie, that he had been very much 
in love with her, and that he had had a cruel dis- 
appointment. Feeling some natural reluctance 
to meet her, after her very frank avowal of her 


PEEPS BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 


199 


sentiments towards him (or, as he told himself, 
after her rejection of his addresses) , he began to 
find business more irksome than ever, and to 
wish heartily for an opportunity to leave New 
York. Such a loophole of escape opened for him 
when his grandfather alluded, in a letter, to 
Jimmie’s delicate state of health, and reluctance 
to ask Bob to accompany him abroad. His res- 
olution was taken immediately, and a duty that 
chimes so harmoniously with inclination is seldom 
slighted. 

Young Stanley is going to leave New York,” 
announced Mr. Melville at the dinner table, a few 
evenings after. 

'’What, Arthur !” his wife exclaimed. "Going 
home, do you say? Why, what’s the meaning 
of it?” 

"He says his brother is out of health, and he 
must go abroad with him. But that’s all an ex- 
cuse, in my opinion. The truth is, Arthur has 
been sick of business ever since he began it, and, 
so far as my judgment goes, he’s well out of it.” 

"His brother ill, and going abroad?” Mrs. 
Melville repeated, with an air of interest. "It 
is not the one who was here in the winter, I 
suppose ? ” 


200 


IN THE WORLD. 


*'No, it is not Bob,” said Mr. Melville, with a 
sly glance at Lillie, *'but it’s some one who wants 
Arthur to take care of him. What are you going 
to do without your escort, miss ? ” 

O, I think I shall be able to get along pretty 
well, thank you, uncle Henry,” Lillie replied. 
But, though she tried to speak nonchalantly, she 
grew so very red, that it attracted the attention 
of Mrs. Melville, who looked at her very fixedly 
and severely, as she said, — 

"Well, I suppose we shall see him before he 
goes, and hear about his sudden change of plan. 
It certainly seems very strange that he should 
not have spoken of it before. I am sure there 
are enough other brothers in the Stanley family 
to go abroad with the sick boy.” 

"Bella looks as if she expected Lillie to explain 
the whole matter,” said Mr. Melville, mischiev- 
ously, as he sat down to the enjoyment of slip- 
pers, arm-chair, and newspaper. 

And, in truth, Mrs. Melville’s demeanor to her 
niece, all through the evening, said, as plainly as 
actions can, "I suspect that you are accountable 
for this move. I hold you responsible for the 
whole affair.” 


PEEPS BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 


201 


^*Yes/’ Arthur said to Bob, a few days later, 
as he was lounging in his brother’s room at Cam- 
bridge, "I was certainly heartily sick of business, 
but I had another strong reason for wishing to be 
away from New York.” 

" And what might that be ? ” asked Bob. 

” Why, to tell the truth,” said Arthur, with an 
air of confidence which seemed as little genuine 
as had been his declaration to Lillie, something 
had happened which would have made New York 
society less pleasant to me. I tell it in confi- 
dence, Bob, for disappointed men are not apt to 
boast of it.” 

"Disappointed?” echoed Bob. 

" Eejected — anything you please to call it I 
There, if you will have it,” said Arthur, "I had 
made a formal offer of my heart and hand to 
Lillie — told her that I loved her, and the little 
flirt — ” 

Bob looked up at his brother, coloring fiery 
red. "You told Lillie that?'' he said, slowly. 
"Arthur, it was not true.” 

"Eeally,” said Arthur, dropping the careless, 
blasS tone in which he had been speaking, "really, 
Bob ! And where is your proof, pray ? ” 


202 


IN THE WORLD. 


"This,” said Bob, with decision. "If you had 
cared for her one pin, you would not tell me 
what you did just now. And secondly, no man 
who really loved a girl would call her flirt, simply 
for refusing him.” 

Arthur hesitated for a moment, as if in doubt 
whether to be angry ; but his easy temper and 
dislike of all unpleasantness getting the mastery, 
he answered, good-humoredly, " I did not know I 
was to come to you. Bob, for lessons in such 
matters. As for Lillie’s being a flirt, I might not 
give her the name, if I were the first. Ask Steve 
Lenox — ask any young man in New York soci- 
ety — they will all say the same.” 

"Very likely,” said Bob, impatiently. "Very 
possibly she may deserve the name from some 
people. That’s neither my business nor yours ; 
she does not deserve the name from you, Arthur, 
for she never gave you reason to suppose she 
cared for you, and, I am sure, had no more idea 
of your caring for her, than — than I shall have, 
if you repeat it a dozen times more. I beg your 
pardon — don’t let’s say a word more on the 
subject.” 

And Bob shut up his books, and pushed back 


PEEPS BEHIND THE CUKTAIN. 


203 


bis chair, as if he wished to turn over a new 
leaf. 

So Arthur and Jimmie sailed out on the world 
of waters, wdiere so many of, our dear ones are 
already embarked, and there were more empty 
places in the chimney-corner. 


204 


IN THE WORLD. 


CHAPTER XII. 

” FIRE ! FIRE ! ” 

” ^“WTHAT is out of sight is out of miud,” 
▼ T say the wise ones ; but however true that 
may be in poetry, and however many pages back 
we may have lost sight of Geoflfre}^ I cannot help 
hoping that you may still have kept a corner of 
your memory green and fresh for the merry-faced 
sailor-boy. Though I cannot follow him over 
the waters any more than his mother at home 
could do, and though, in that long China voyage, 
letters were impossibilities, I am sure I can pic- 
ture his life on shipboard as well as Jimmie or 
Mrs. Stanley. I know that, with all his merry 
words before Captain Hawley and the men, with 
all his daring and his longing to try the world for 
himself, there were some hours when Geoffrey’s 
stout heart grew very tender at the thought of 
home and his mother, when sleep would not visit 


FIRE ! FIRE ! 


205 


his pillow for the recollection of the things he 
had sailed away from, and there was a dull pain 
about his heart, which had no other name than 
homesickness. I know all this, even though these 
feelings came up in the night, when there was no 
one by to see, and Geoffrey was quite sure that 
he was the only person who knew of them. I 
know that whatever rough scenes, or coarse 
words, met his eyes and ears, there was never a 
word on his lips which his mother might not have 
heard him speak, and that, whatever temptations 
might lie in his way, the thought of her kept him 
as pure and innocent as if he were still at home. 
There was no " cant ” about Geoffrey. The men 
called him "a plucky little fellow,” and liked him 
heartily, but were never troubled by his piety. 
Yet, though he never talked about his feelings, 
deep down in his heart there was something 
which would have kept him straight in very 
crooked ways : perhaps it was nothing more than 
this thought of, and love for, his mother ! For 
the rest, I know that he was as daring and cool 
as if he had been an " old salt,” instead of a 
"young land-lubber;” that the true grit which 
had made him keep his hold on the sea-washed 


206 


IN THE WORLD. 


rock ill his childish days did not desert him in 
the storms he weathered now ; and that he had 
never yet repented of trying thoroughly, and 
"in the rough,” the calling he had chosen. And 
there you have Geoffrey ! 

"You shall see us back a year from now,” 
Captain Hawley had said, when the ship sailed 
away from the wdiarf, and the anxious home faces 
assembled there to look a last look at their sailor- 
boy ; and now a year was fast rolling away. 
While matters at home had been going on so 
quietly, while students had been working theii 
way through the first term to vacation, and through 
the second term to Class day, Geoffrey had been 
sailing round the world, until, as in Boffs old 
story, he found himself landed in China. 

He had met the rough autumn gales and the 
fierce winter storms, had hung on the mast when 
the ship was rocking so that he felt as if he were 
clinging to the end of a long fishing-rod, just 
about to be dipped into the briny deep. He had 
seen the mountain billows we read of in wonderful 
books of travel come dashing over the deck, look- 
ing as if they would ingulf the vessel in their green, 
glassy depths. He had lain in his little berth 


FIRE I FIRE ! 


207 


when be felt as if every minute might be his 
last, so fiercely did the winds and waves rage 
round him, and so completely at the mercy of the 
elements did the defenceless ship appear. And 
from all these experiences Geofii’ey had come out 
safely, with the addition of a cool, steady head 
and sturdy heart. 

And now the good ship was homeward bound, 
and GeolFrey, as he watched the stars night after 
night, knew that every hour was bringing him 
nearer and nearer home. He always felt less 
far away when he looked at the stars, for he re- 
membered Jimmie’s fondness for star-gazing, and 
he would often wonder if their eyes were fixed 
on the same constellation. He did not know that 
Jimmie was sailing over the same vast, watery 
plain, with the same bright, wide-spread canopy 
above him. 

One night Geofi’rey was taking his turn at the 
w’atch, sitting quietly on the deck, looking from 
the sky to the glowing, phosphorescent water. 
It was almost like fire, he said to himself, as he 
watched the long, flaming track left by the vessel. 
But fire at sea is always such a terrible thought, 
that even such a comparison is enough to make 


208 


IN THE WORLD. 


one shudder ; and Geoffrey was hiin to find some 
pleasanter simile, when suddenly, as he sat, a 
strange, unwonted smell came to his nostrils. 
He started quickly to his feet, with the chill his 
ugly thought had sent through him again creeping 
over his limbs. A smell — could it have been — 
like^re^ No, of course not! It was only his 
fancy : but, uneasy still, he walked the deck, 
throwing a startled glance around. What was it 
met his eyes in the forward part of the vessel? 
Surely a faint little flicker of flame, shooting up 
between the planks of the vessel’s side ! He 
rushed forward, stood for a moment still, then 
uttered one terrible cry. 

Fire I Fire I A lone waste of waters, not a 
foothold in sight, save the ship which sheltered 
them, and within the very heart of that ship a 
devouring element which would drive them forth 
anywhere, anywhere, to escape from it ! Fire at 
sea ! O, it is a thought that will send a chill 
through the frame of the most unimaginative, even 
though he is sitting, safe and comfortable, in a 
home leagues away from such horrors I 

All was alive in a moment after that wild cry 
from Geoffrey — the deck swarming with terror- 


FIRE ! FIRE ! 


209 


stricken faces. How did it happen? No time 
to ask now, while the fire was there, and there 
was even a faint hope of mastering it. Time 
enough for questions by and by; this was the 
time to work. 

Only one poor, conscience-stricken wretch 
remembered mistily a night-watch, when, with 
senses confused by the secret dram he would have 
given worlds never to have come by, he had 
furtively lighted his pipe with a coal from the 
cook’s fire, and had hastily thrown it down, crush- 
ing it beneath his foot, and scarcely stopping to 
see if all the sparks had died out of it. 

One spark had lingered, and, dropping into a 
crack, had slowly eaten its way down, down into 
the hold, mouldered on for a day, undiscovered, 
in the boards, reached some crates of china, 
swathed in bands of rice-straw, spread swiftly 
through the hold, licked its way up the planks, 
and now burst forth from the vessel’s side, send- 
ing its cruel tongues of flame high in the air ! 

No, no time for questions ; no time for terror, 
even ! All was stern, desperate work ; a hand- 
to-hand struggle with the monster Death, which 
stared them in the face. No, no time for words 
14 


210 


IN THE WORLD. 


while there was a breath of hope that they might 
work their way to life ! With pump, hose, buck- 
ets, the}^ worked and toiled. In vain ! The 
water poured on the raging fire was but as oil 
to the flames ; they seemed to mock at it. The 
hope had grown fainter and fainter, louder and 
louder the murmurs of the men. 

"It is of no use,” said the captain, suddenly 
stopping short ; " we are only wasting time.” 

The words seemed to have scattered all dis- 
cipline, all self-control, to the winds with the 
breath that uttered them. There were wild cries 
of terror, hurried rushing back and forth. 

" To the boats I ” was the cry. 

Alas I one boat had been, from the first, in the 
very midst of the raging flames. What was the 
other among so many ? 

As the captain turned from asking himself this 
question to look at the crowd of faces round him, 
he seemed deserted by all the faces he had looked 
to see. His eyes met those of Geoffrey, wide- 
dilated with the despair which had seized upon 
them all, and blanched the boy’s cheeks to an 
ashy pallor. 

"Look, Captain Hawley ! ” said he, and pointed 


FIRE ! FIRE ! 


211 


over the vessel’s side. Half out of sight over 
the tossing waters, lighted by the angry glare of 
the flames, they saw the smaller boat, crowded 
with men. While the few staunch and loyal hearts 
had been toiling for the ship round the captain, 
these had stolen away, unseen in the absorbing 
frenzy of that desperate work, and seized on the 
one frail straw of support. 

"The cowards ! ” burst from the captain’s lips. 

"O, my mother!” the boy exclaimed, under 
his breath. 

The words died away on Captain Hawley’s 
tongue, as he heard the exclamation. 

"It is all one,” he said; "we could not all 
have gone. We must take our chance together, 
my men. It’s sink or swim with us, and leave 
the ship to her fate. But, Geoffrey, we will keep 
together, my boy. While there is one breath 
left in my body, I will hold you up! Your 
mother gave you to me, and I’ll give you back 
to her again, or we’ll go to the bottom together ! 
Come ; there’s no time to lose.” 

The captain had grasped Geoffrey’s hand while 
he spoke, and looked straight into the boy’s eyes. 
It seemed as if his courage and daring fired 
Geoffrey too. 


212 


IN THE WORLD. 


The flames roared and crackled at the vessel’s 
side, as if to warn them to trust to her no longer. 
The few swimmers lashed themselves to anything 
they could lay hands on, — any frail prop that 
might serve to hold them up when their own 
strength was spent, — and, one by one, leaped 
from the burning ship. 

Captain Hawley had lashed Geoflrey and him- 
self to the same spar, and, with one backward 
glance at the vessel, the two plunged together 
into the merciless sea, whose waters, crimsoned 
by the fiery glow, stretched around them far as 
the eye could reach ! 


ON LAND. 


213 


CHAPTEli XIII. 


ON LAND. 


BOB,” said his little sister, leaning from 



V-/, the window where, as usual on Sat- 
urday afternoons, she sat to greet him on his 
return from Cambridge, — these two were the 
only ones at home now, — ” O, Bob, Lillie is not 
coming on to Class day 1 ” 

Well,” said Bob, gulping down a good deal 
of disappointment with the word, "well, I’m 
sorry to hear it. Why not, Lilliekin? What 
does she say?” 

"O, she writes that she is going to Newport 
with Mrs. Melville this summer, and * is afraid 
she shall hardly have time to get a glimpse of 
Rockedge’ — just as if she couldn’t if she wanted 
to ! And O, Bob, I do think she might make 
time to come on to your Class day, when you’re 
to be orator; and Arthur, and Jim, and Geoffrey 


214 


IN THE WORLD. 


are all away, and there’s nobody to see you do it 
but poor little me ! O, I do think it’s too bad 
of her ! ” 

And Lillie found relief for her feelings of in- 
dignation and regret in a most fervent embrace 
of her favorite brother. 

”Well, Lillie, we must make the best of it,” 
Bob said. ”And I think — don’t you? — that we 
shall be able to spare the people who don’t want 
to come.” 

” But when they are so much wanted I ” said 
Lillie, a little dolefully. 

"So I say, Lillie,” said Guy Dalton, who, with 
a letter from his sister in his hand, was just leav- 
ing the house. "Ah, Bob, how are you? Yes, 
I feel tempted to write to Lillie that, when her 
presence would be so useful to Sue just now, she 
might, for once, give up what she wants herself. 
But I am afraid she is getting altogether unused 
to do that.” 

"And how is the new incumbent? ” said Bob, 
without replying to Guy’s remark. " I hear Mas- 
ter Kobin’s nose has been put out of joint — how 
is the young lady?” 

"O, all that heart could desire,” said the 


ON LAND. 


215 


new incumbent’s papa, his face losing its cloud. 
"And as for Robin’s nose being out of joint, I 
only wish you could see him I He is so elated 
with the importance of having a baby sister, that 
he can’t even condescend to be naughty. *Do 
you think you shall keep her, mamma?’ the 
young gentleman inquired, when he first saw his 
new sister. Sue said she thought of doing so, 
and asked Robin if he should advise it. ’ Why, 
yes,’ said he, hesitating, 'I guess I would, if I 
w^ere you.’ And I believe his Majesty thinks the 
baby’s presence in the house entirely due to his 
gracious permission.” 

And off hurried Guy, too happy, just now, in 
domestic affairs, to remember his disappointment 
in Lillie. 

So Class day came and went, and Lillie was 
not there to see ; and Bob, with all his ambitions 
realized, yet found, as usual, the roc’s egg want- 
ing in his palace ! It was, certainly, a very dif- 
ferent Class day from Arthur’s, when all had 
been so sunny and bright, and the home band 
had as yet no breaks in its ranks. But, scattered 
as they were, there were yet some hearts left to 
beat high with pride and love, when Bob rose on 


216 


IN THE WOKLD. 


the platform, looking so strange and unfamiliar in 
the long, black gown, and delivered the oration, 
which his little sister believed implicitly to be the 
finest ever written. 

As the page of Bob’s college career was 
turned, and he prepared to step out into the real 
world, it was not only the partial ones at home 
who said that his battle in the little world he was 
leaving had been bravely fought and won. 

"Well, Bob,” said his father, that evening, 
" are you ready yet to say what you are going to 
do in life?” 

" I think so — quite ready, sir.” 

"Well?” said his father; for Bob made a longf 
pause. 

" I believe I have thought about it long enough 
to be sure that I am in earnest. I have always 
wished and meant to be a minister.” 

"Well, Bob,” said his father, with a pleased 
smile, "it is what I have always wished, though 
not meant that you should be. Nobody must 
undertake to be that unless he has considered it 
well, and is as much in earnest as I am sure you 
are — as you have always been in everything you 
have undertaken. Only remember that there are 


ON LAND. 


217 


sacrifices to be made, — as in everything worth 
doing, — and that, above all, you must lay aside 
the ambition that has pushed you so hard all 
through your life, and I have no fears for you. 
An earnest purpose, and courage to speak the 
truth, are the best weapons, and you have them 
both. There’s the right hand of fellowship for 
you, my boy.” 

" O, Bob,” said little Lillie, when Bob’s pur- 
pose was talked of, "are you really going to be a 
minister? O, don’t get over being merr}^ — will 
you? Don’t grow grave, and glum, and poky — 
ministers always are.” 

"Thank you. Miss Puss,” said her father, 
laughing; "that is frank, at any rate, though it 
certainly isn’t flattering. Am I 'grave, and 
glum, and poky,’ then?” 

" No, of course not, papa,” said Lillie, some- 
what discomfited ; " but that’s so diflerent ! Bob 
is a boy, and if he gives up his rowing and his 
fun because he’s to be a minister, I shall be so 
unhappy ! I shall feel as if I did not know 
him.” 

" You needn’t be afraid, Lillie,” said Bob. 
" I’ll promise you I won’t change in anything you 


218 


IN THE WORLD. 


care for. You won’t see my face grow long, or 
my oars laid on the shelf, I assure you.” 

As usual, Lillie Dalton had scarcely received 
her due, as regarded the absence from Class day. 
It was neither indifference to Bob, forgetfulness 
of Sue, or entire absorption in gayety, that kept 
her away. As usual, aunt Bella’s insinuations 
were at the bottom of it. Poor Lillie had been 
made to suffer a great deal of petty martyrdom,^ 
after Mrs. Melville had discovered the true rea- 
son of Arthur’s departure from New York, and 
Bob’s name was mentioned, at least once a day, 
with opprobrious comments and pointed allusions, 
for a long time after. At last Lillie lost pa- 
tience, and when her aunt was one day lamenting 
over Lillie’s perverse fastidiousness in society, 
and the shame and mortification it was to Mrs. 
Melville to see her throw away all the attention 
she might have for the sake of a ” mere awkward 
college boy, with no polish or position, — give 
up all her chances of a brilliant summer at a gay 
watering-place, to go rushing on to his Class day, 
and encouraging his impertinent interference in 
her aflairs,” Lillie turned, and said, very qui- 
etly, — 


ON LAND. 


219 


” Aunt Bella, I will go to Newport, or any- 
where that you please. I will not go on to Class 
day, and I will even give up staying at Kockedge 
this summer ; but I cannot have you talk to me 
any more, in the way you do, about Bob Stanley. 
I have borne it as long as I can, and I can’t bear 
it another day. It is unwomanly, and it makes 
me ashamed to hear it.” 

And Mrs. Melville was wise enough to know 
she had gone sufficiently far. Nobody knew how 
many tears Lillie shed in secret over the sacri- 
ficed Class day, and the thought of the unjust 
charges of indiflereuce and lack of affection 
towards Sue, which she would have to suffer 
from Bob and Guy. Lillie was proud, and her 
delicacy had been sorely wounded by aunt Bella’s 
insinuations. She consented to go to Newport 
rather than incur the cool, mocking smile she 
always expected now to see on her aunt’s lips 
when Rockedge or home matters were talked of ; 
and she paid for her weakness, as we all do in 
such cases, by having to bear unjust judgment in 
the minds of those she loved. 

None of the Rockedge party had expected to 
see anything of her this summer; but one sultry. 


220 


IN THE WORLD. 


August da}^ when the feminine portion of the 
household were all gathered on the piazza to catch 
the first cooling breath from the sea, in fluttered 
Lillie, fresh and breezy from her trip in the 
steamer, rosy and beaming with smiles. 

"Why, Lillie,” said Sue, rising to kiss her, 
" where in the world did you drop from ? I had 
given up the very thought of seeing you this 
summer.” 

" And I had given up all but the hope of seeing 
you,” said Lillie. "I didn’t really think it would 
be realized, but aunt Bella came up to Boston for 
a day’s shopping, and I deelared I would have 
my way for once, and run dovvn to Kockedge to 
see you and baby. Where is she ? ” 

"Then you did really care about us, dear?” 
said Sue, afiectionately, when the new-comer had 
been displayed, with all the encomiums usual on 
such occasions. 

"Care about you I O, Sue! But I suppose 
you think I don’t, and Guy calls me giddy and 
selfish. Well, I dare, say I deserve that; but it 
isn’t true that I don’t care about you, whatever 
you may fancy.” 

" But, Lillie,” said her little namesake, whose 


ON LAND. 


221 


sharp tongue never lost an opportunity of exer- 
cising itself, "why, if you care so much, didn’t 
you come on before? Why did you give up 
Bob’s Class day ? And why do you stay at New- 
port, instead of being here with us?” 

Lillie’s face clouded, and Sue gave a warning 
glance at the young critic. 

"You say you have had your way for once 
to-day, Lillie,” she said, smiling; "isn’t Newport 
your way, dear? Aren’t you having a happy 
summer? ” 

"O, yes,” said Lillie, with a half sigh. "I 
suppose nobody forces me to do what 1 don’t 
choose. But, Sue, there ar§ botherations. I 
wish I could be here just with you, and forget 
about them all.” 

" So you shall, for to-day, at least,” said Sue, 
with her sweet voice and smile, and Eobin com- 
ing in just then with shouts for his "pretty 
aunty,” a happy diversion was effected. 

Lillie was all smiles and sunshine for the rest 
of the morning, and till the return of the gentle- 
men from town. Then she stood on the piazza, 
with a slightly conscious air, as Bob and Guy 
came up the avenue. 


222 


IN THE WORLD. 


"What, Lillie ! ” Guy exclaimed, as he came in 
sight of the house. "You are a stranger indeed. 
I thought you had cut our acquaintance.” 

"Now don’t, Guidie,” Lillie said, coaxingly. 
"Won’t you make me happy while I am here, 
and believe that I should like to be here longer?” 

"If you say so, Lillie; but have you no eyes 
for Bob? You haven’t seen him, either, for some 
time.” 

Bob and Lillie shook hands, and I am quite 
sure that, as they did so, the thought of that 
unlucky sleigh-ride rose before them both. Bob, 
however, was ashamed that he had allowed him- 
self to remember, it, and put it out of mind at 
once ; but Lillie, looking up and meeting his 
eye, was more sure than ever that he despised 
her for her hypocrisy. 

Kockedge, however, was too free from con- 
straint, and home too happy a place to be in, for 
clouds to linger there long. Grandpapa’s hearty 
caresses, uncle Arthur’s quieter welcome, and 
Sue’s affection, to say nothing of Bob’s and little 
Lillie’s mirth, made up too sunny an atmosphere 
for any unpleasant memories, and the day passed 
quickly away. 


ON LAND. 


223 


As the hour for the starting of the steamer 
approached, Lillie had even resolved she would 
speak to Bob of that unlucky mistake, and set 
herself right in his eyes. She turned to look for 
him, but Bob was not on the piazza : he was sit- 
ting on the hall stairs, so absorbed with the even- 
ing paper, that any allusion to the New York 
visit would have been out of the question at the 
moment. While waiting for a more propitious 
one, old Prissy came up on the piazza. 

” Ah, Miss Lillie,” said she, " we don’t often get 
a sight of you nowadays, and I suppose we’d 
better make the most of this one — hadn’t we? 
We shan’t have the chance long.” 

”Why, I don’t mean to die just yet. Prissy,” 
said Lillie, laughing. 

”You needn’t tell me that,” said Prissy. 
"There are weddings in the world, as well as fu- 
nerals. Ah, you see I’ve heard all about Mr. 
Lenox.” 

"And what about him? ’’asked Lillie, amused 
at Prissy’s shrewd smiles and mysterious shak- 
ings of the head. 

"O, a little bird told me he was engaged to a 
pretty young lady. I know all about it, you 


see. 


£24 


IN THE WORLD. 


"Little birds aren’t always to be trusted,” said 
Lillie, with a glance at the stairs and Bob. 

"And young ladies sometimes tell fibs, when 
such things are talked about,” returned Prissy. 
"You don’t deny it. Miss Lillie.” 

Before Lillie could answer. Bob suddenly 
started up, crumpling the paper in his hand, and 
thrusting it in his pocket. She had noticed him 
bending over it with so grave and absorbed a 
face, that she wondered if he could have heard 
their talk. 

" She doesn’t deny it, Mr. Bob,” said Prissy, as 
he came out on the piazza. 

"Then we may believe it’s true, I suppose. 
Prissy,” Bob said. He spoke so absently that 
Lillie turned to look at him in astonishment. 

"Why, Bob,” she said, half laughing, "I be- 
lieve you don’t know what we’re talking about — 
do you?” 

Bob started, and looked at her in a bewildered 
sort of way. 

"PIl tell you, Mr. Bob,” said Prissy, slyly. 
" I was telling Miss Lillie how a little bird whis- 
pered to me that Mr. Lenox had something to do 
with her being at Newport this summer ; and she 
didn’t deny it.” 


ON LAND. 


225 


"Yes,” said Bob, in the same half-absent way. 
" Then you see I was not so much abroad in my 
reply, after all.” 

And that was all ! Was it any wonder that 
Lillie was surprised and piqued? " Well, really, 
if Bob cared so little for her doings that he could 
accept, without inquiry or comment. Prissy’s 
word for such a report concerning her, there was 
little need for her to explain herself to him. It 
certainly did not matter in what light he held 
her ! ” 

She turned away to hide the tears of vexation 
and mortification that rose to her eyes ; but he 
seemed to notice nothing. 

Both Guy and Bob accompanied her to the 
boat, and one of them was to be her escort on 
the trip, and see her safely again in her aunt’s 
charge. The sun was beginning to dip down 
towards the Waters, and to cast a rosy tinge over 
sea and shore, but there were no rosy clouds for 
Lillie. Everything seemed to wear the gloomy 
tinge of her own vexation, and, like everything 
she did, turn into a misunderstanding and con- 
trariety. 

She had supposed, as a matter of course, that 

15 


226 


IN THE WORLD. 


Bob was to go with her to Boston, as he always 
acted as her escort ; but, as they stood at the 
pier, waiting for the boat to touch the landing, 
he drew Guy aside, and she heard him say, in a 
half whisper, — 

" I shall ask you to take my place. I must be 
at home, I believe.” And then followed a whis- 
per which Lillie could not hear. 

She saw Guy start, and Bob make a motion of 
his hand, as if to stop him, then heard him add, 
" It may not be true ; but I would rather speak 
to my father at once. It has come to no one’s 
ears as yet, and I must consult him whether it is 
best that it should.” 

And then the boat had touched the landing. 

" Come, Lillie,” said Guy. And Lillie shook 
hands with Bob, barely touching his hand, and 
half turning away her head, yet noticing that his 
face never lost its anxious, preoccupied look ; and 
as the boat slowly steamed away, she told herself, 
passionately, that it had been one of the most 
unsatisfactory days of her life. If she could 
only have looked into Bob’s mind ! 

He had gone straight home, and into his fa- 
ther’s study, where, pulling the paper from his 
pocket, he pointed to a paragraph. 


ON LAND. 


227 


" Look there ! ” he said. 

It was but a short sentence, but it only 
seemed, for that reason, to bring it more vividly 
before them as a terrible reality. It stated, 
briefly, that Captain Hawley’s ship, the "Me- 
dusa,” expected at this port within a few days, 
had caught fire at sea, from the carelessness of 
one of the men, and that the captain, with the 
greater part of the crew, had probably perished. 
A few of the survivors, escaping in the smaller 
boat, had been picked up by a ship, just arrived 
at port, which brought the news, and from them 
had been learned all the particulars known of the 
terrible catastrophe. They had deserted the ship 
too early to know with certainty the fate of those 
they had left behind, but pieces of the burning 
wreck had been seen drifting past them, and 
there could not be a doubt that the unhappy men 
had perished in the flames or the waters. Still, 
no particulars of the melancholy disaster could be 
known with certainty. Then followed the names 
' of the few rescued from the boat. Neither Geof- 
1 frey’s nor Captain Hawley’s was among them. 

"Is it best that we should speak of it?” said 
Bob — he had grown very pale: "it cannot be 


228 


IN THE WORLD. 


certain yet. Had we not better keep it to our- 
selves ? ” 

Mr. Stanley did not answer for a moment. 
He had stood leaning heavily on Bob’s shoulder 
during the reading, and now that the story was 
told. 

" I do not believe in concealing anything from 
your mother,” he said, at last. It must come to 
her knowledge, sooner or later. Let us go to 
her at once.” 

They turned, and left the room together. 


FROM OVER THE SEA. 


229 


CHAPTER Xiy. 


FROM OVER THE SEA. 


S it the old German, or his daughter, Ar- 



J- thur, who makes this sketching so attrac- 
tive, and their company so much to be preferred 
to ours? Or why is it that we see so little of 
you lately ? ” 

”Mr. 'VYohlien is a very agreeable, entertain- 
ing person, and talking with him is excellent 
German practice,” said Arthur. "Besides, he is 
a real artist, and you know my tastes.” 

"Agreeable? entertaining? Why, I thought 
him 'crabbed age’ itself! Good German prac- 
tice? Well, perhaps so; but, Arthur, I never 
knew you so devoted to art before.” 

"I have never had either the opportunity 
or the leisure, you must remember, my dear 
Fanny, or the advantages of such natural beauty 
before me for sketching.” 


230 


IN THE WORLD. 


"I wonder if he means the fair Else, knitting 
away placidly at her father’s blue yarn stocking ! ” 
muttered Fanny, as Arthur left the room. 

"What are you saying, Fanny?” asked her 
brother, who had not heard the dialogue be- 
tween the cousins. 

" O, nothing in particular. Jack. I was only 
wondering whether painters did not generally 
prefer to. make a study of animated nature rather 
than of empty landscapes.” 

And then, laughing at Jack’s mystified face, 
Fanny sat down to her desk and scribbled off a 
home letter for the next steamer. 

Dear Ones at Home — Aunty, Bob, any one 
whom it may concern : This letter is meant for 
you all ; for as Arthur and I are almost the only 
well ones in this resort of invalids, and as I 
consider a feminine goose-quill far superior to a 
masculine, in matters of detail, I take it upon 
m3^self to give you the picture of our surround- 
ings, and the bulletin of our invalids. 

Here we are in level}" Mentone, a place that is 
enough in itself, one would think, to cure any 
illness — blue water in front of our windows that 


FROM OVER THE SEA. 


231 


is a sight for sair een,” and balmy breezes that 
would heal any ailment. Jimmie is growing 
daily stronger and happier under the influence 
of this lovely climate ; indeed, I have seen his 
eyes brighten, and his step strengthen, from the 
moment we left the east winds behind us. You 
must keep up your courage, aunty, dear. I feel 
sure that Jimmie will be back with you, and 
in his old place at college, almost as soon as 
Geoffrey is there to meet him ; and you will all 
say he has brought back twice as much of him- 
self as he took away. And Jack — well, I can- 
not believe that Mentone will cure everybody 
else, and leave my brother out in the cold ; so 
we hope on together for stronger days, and are 
glad that Pandora, in that nice old story I used 
to be so fond of, as a child, left Hope behind at 
the bottom of her box. 

You will wonder what Arthur and I do in this 
colony of invalids, and* whether, with our ro- 
bust strength, we don’t feel like Gulliver among 
the Lilliputs. Almost everybody else is, or has 
been, ill, and at first we both felt as if ifc were 
rather barbarous for us to go down to the table 
with appetites unimpaired — having nothing the 


232 


IN THE WORLD. 


matter with us. But we managed to secure a 
modicum of respect by being at least the nurses 
of sick people, and I remembered to inquire ma- 
tutinally for everybody’s ailments, keeping my 
sympathies unblunted by my affection for two 
of the invalids. Jimmie is getting well enough 
to enjoy short walks and excursions, and if Jack 
were only better able to go with us, I should have 
hardly anything left to wish for. 

And what does Arthur do? you will ask me. 
And, as it happens, that brings me to a more par- 
ti<^ular description of our fellow-boarders. Among 
the inmates of this house, and frequenters of the 
tahle-d'hdte, I noticed, as soon as we came here, 
an old German, with his daughter. He has, I 
believe, a slight lameness, perhaps a rheumatic 
affection, and comes here every year for a while. 
He is an artist, it seems, of considerable repute, 
and a professor of drawing ; poor, I suppose, but 
a gentleman, a baron, like all Germans I Arthur 
saijs he sjpeaks heautifal German; and though I 
cannot help thinking that his rheumatism and his 
reverses make him irritable, I am interested in 
him for the sake of his pretty daughter. Such a 
fresh' faced, simple little German maiden, aunty! 


FROM OVER THE SEA. 


233 


With her blue eyes, and blond braids, and 
sturdy, sensible little manner, she seems to me 
like 'Dorothea,’ or 'Dora,’ or ^ Moslein aiif der 
Heide,^' or any heroine of German prose or 
poetry whom silly romantic I should be apt to 
fancy her. To crown all, her name is Else, and 
you will not laugh at me for calling her "Gold 
Else.” I do not think she would thank me for 
weaving all this halo of sentiment about her, for 
she is a very practical little body — a plain, 
straightforward, downright little creature, with a 
heart full of simplicity, and a temper so sweet 
that no quick word from her irascible papa has 
pow’er for a moment to ruffle it. She is perfectly 
devoted to him, and sits by him for hours to- 
gether, knitting away at his great blue yarn 
stockings, while he draws. But you must not 
fancy her insipid, for she has a character of her 
own, simple as she is. I liked the honesty and 
quiet self-respect with which she said, when the 
old man was telling us once of his w^ealth and 
position in by-gone days, and w^as vexed with her 
for not seeming to remember, — 

"But that was so long ago, papa; you know 
we have been working people all my days.” 


234 


IN THE WORLD. 


I wish I could tell you .how sweetly the Ger- 
man words came from her pretty lips. You will 
think me growing fanciful over this little Else 
Wohlieii, but I am anxious you should know 
what a simple, undcsigning little charmer she is. 
Jack sa^^s, and ti’uly, that she is the last person 
to find out that she has bewitched us all. You 
should see how thoughtful and sympathetic she is, 
in her child-like, innocent way, for my poor boy. 

But I began by telling you about Arthur. He 
and the old Wohlien are excellent friends. The 
artistic taste draws them together, and the old 
professor owns, in his grum way, that Arthur’s 
talent is considerable. So they go off on long 
sketching expeditions, and when I say the pretty 
Else generally goes too, you will think, with me, 
that the expeditions must have a double charm. 
And, as I mean that this letter should amuse you, 
and show you how light-hearted I am over my 
invalids, and how hopeful you should be, I will 
send you a little scribble, which I wrote about a 
tableau I witnessed yesterday afternoon from my 
window. Arthur is too good-natured to mind, 
though I certainly mean to submit my lines to 
him first. 





,.Jk3:e aHT VC 5Tli 




.rO^w-v;' u'r)\b aoii OMLatrt Vvfjnu'i eA 

' • -^ M» , 

' .Mt.nv>t; ill Mrjn^v-) '3i.d;’ A Ixji.: ,6'iirj^;o 9J> t 

: ,;".u 'P =Xi /..ri'; i t:Lrj/i i Uai^/f 3 

■ * - . ; 'V . X-. .- . , 

> . .')■ 


-■ ...f 


'irM'iri.xr '^J.T ; j 


nil 


) ;.!o f .-.iiil ’rnf 


,Oif .''jf.. >pi,r Or! A' ,iioilfl<r// xi'jii Ur >fi>ol oj ,7/hbai/7 




w.c-y 

' i’i V 

•r ,1., 

ill ! A ‘ \ . ih-ifS 

JDO /Hri fiijjit Sjdl 


v;-i.l 

Myr'lw^r^ ^ 

niCKKi ^oi bfiniiJ'j 

. • .'-• 



iijsr iin'^ 


»- ii 

uHA fio;.-*. '\oilii 

Vi A 

il J-* aJ 


‘ '‘i'l At'i ti.Vf*„di 


■^••nf-■ - 

1 ,-.rf 

^.|! t/cf 

‘AilUnnt i (l*^ 


i. v»‘ . - .y. i,i.*l • lot;- ',*'uv ';i.,Li£^ 

j , i»dr: buii ; %:>'/ a Ur vyi jJftfvi::}'! 
* ‘ . .■ . , — : 'Uti* ‘'i MO*.* iravAA fa: 


■ at. 


M? -ta ■•L>i'\rTJ.'ji Tf.KM’r ’'T>> v;Ki 


- ^ ■. ’<‘ V .,'.v. >;. t: n.t*‘f-i:’'5 


.'.*4 A 4 * 

. ' • -v • T' '■ ;■ 


I Va- ■ .. 


>.:• ;v:v? 


' ■/? -V.f'kV 


J . ;? ■ V- V:; 


.‘A* 


'vvii -,j< .'^I'X 



FROM OVER THE SEA. 


235 


As Fanny’s nimble pen reached these words, 
the door opened, and Arthur came in again. 

” What ! Back again ? ” Fanny exclaimed. 

The light is poor to-day.” 

"O,” said Fanny, popping her head out of the 
window to look at Herr Wohlien, who sat alone, 
absorbed in his landscape-drawing, ''you mean 
the sun isn’t out to-day? Arthur, are you in- 
clined for poetry? Would you like to hear a 
waif from my muse?” 

"Anything you like,” said Arthur, smiling, and 
throwing himself down on the sofa beside her. 
"What indomitable spirits you have, Fanny !” 

"Then don’t blame me,” said Fanny, with a 
roguish twinkle in her eyes ; and she read, glan- 
cing at Arthur from time to time, — 

THF END OF STOCKING KNITTING AND GERMAN 
GRAMMAR IS “THE OLD OLD STORY.” 

Sits the maiden, deftly knitting, 

Bright steel needles quickly flitting 
Round the stocking’s row; 

O’er her, rapt in contemplation 
Of her fingers’ swift rotation. 

Bends a youth we know. 

Do we fact for fable see — 

Hercules and Omphale 


236 


IN THE WORLD 


Play anew their jjart? 

Is our gay gallant so dumpft 
Has a blue wollener Strumpf 
Power to charm his heart? 

Never think it; though he lingers 
Half a lifetime near those fingers, 
Stockings he’ll ne’er make; 

Yet, as he sits heedless there, 

Yarn and needles weave a snare 
Which he cannot break. 

And a myth from classic age 
Comes again on modern stage, 

With this youth and maid; 

Sisters three their powers unite, 
Aided by those fingers white. 

Ply their fateful trade. 

Clotho, Lachesis both fill 
Their own parts with wonted skill, 

In the web begun. 

Atropos, shears thrown aside. 

Doth no more the threads divide. 
But knots two in one ! 

Needles take the distaflf’s place. 
Shifting threads soon interlace. 

In their magic art. 

He, unconscious, sees no trick. 
Neither feels the sharp points prick. 
Through that ball, his heart. 


FROM OVER THE SEA. 


237 


German verbs, unmoved by fate, 
Youth and maiden conjugate; 

One leads on the other, ^ 

Till he asks, liehest mich?'* 

Falters she, “ /cA liche dich.** 
Thus they love each other. 


What utter nonsense, Fanny ! ” said Arthur, 
laughing outright as Fanny glanced up under her 
eyelashes at him. "You would certainly take 
out a patent as Mother Goose’s successor ! ” 

^ "O, then it is mere nonsense — is it?” said 
Fanny; "and I have your jDermission to amuse 
the children at home with it?” 

" You have my permission to do anything your 
madcap spirits set you up to,” said Arthur, in the 
same easy, good-natured tone ; but Fanny noticed 
that the color had risen to his face as she read, 
and had not even yet disappeared. The letter 
was finished and sent, but I think the last few 
lines were rewritten, and the little poem remained 
in its author’s writing-desk. The same steamer 
brought to our home party a letter from Jim- 
mie, and, as his epistles were a sufficient con- 
trast to Fanny’s, I may as well let you see that, 
too. 


238 


IN THE WOELD. 


Dear Mother : Fanny will have told you, 
I suppose, what a lovely place we find ourselves 
in here. It seems* as if the air were a real medi- 
cine, and took away all aches and pains as one 
breathed it in. But I must not talk of aches, in 
connection with myself, for I am too well now to 
be considered any longer an invalid. So mind 
and don’t have one moment of uneasiness about 
me, for I am only taking a pleasant little vaca- 
tion, and shnll return to dear old Harvard fresher 
than before. I have had just enough pain to 
teach me to feel for it in other people, and when 
the time comes for me to decide on my work in 
life, I think I shall say, for that reason, that I 
will be a doctor. But I am writing too much 
about myself. 

I wish that Mentone would do as much for 
Jack as it has done for me. I never let Fanny 
see it, but I am beginning to lose heart when I 
look at Jack. He seems to grow weaker every 
daj^, mother, and his face begins to have that 
strange, transparent look, as if the soul were 
looking through. He never utters a word of 
complaint, but keeps up all his own bright fun 
and make-believe, even when he seems too feeble 


FROM OVER THE SEA. 


239 


to speak. Fanny tries to think it is all right 
v’ith him, and is her own merry self, because she 
thinks he wishes it; but sometimes, when he is 
not noticing her, I have seen her look at him with 
an expression as if her very heart would break. 

You will think it must be stupid for Arthur in 
this colony of sick people, and I should some- 
times be sorry that I took him away, when there 
seemed so little need of it, if it were not for the 
pleasant company he finds here. Fanny has 
written to you already about the Wohliens, but 
she has not told you what a friendship is growing 
up between the professor and Arthur. I feel 
quite proud when I hear Herr Wohlien, who is 
rather taciturn, and certainly not given to fiat- 
tery, praise Arthur’s talent for drawing. You 
know how often we have said that Arthur might 
be a real artist, if he would only apply himself. 
Here, with Herr Wohlien for a companion, and 
Italian scenery for an aid, he is beginning to 
think so himself, and is quite devoted to his 
pencil. 

Then Else Wohlien, the daughter, is a real 
sunbeam to Fanny, who must be lonely here 
sometimes with only us boys for companions. In 


240 


IN THE WOIII.D. 


fact, Else is a sunbeam to all of us, a girl whom 
even Bob would like, she is so sensible and 
sweet. They are going to leave Mentone soon, 
and return to Heidelberg, where the professor 
gives lessons. We shall miss them sadly, and 
Arthur oven talks of making a little run on there 
to see his artist friend at home, while we are 
recuperating here. I hope he may, for my only 
uneasiness is lest he should be bored here with us. 

But I am writing more than I intended, for 
Fanny’s pen generally exhausts a subject. This 
is only to carr}^ my love to all at home, and let 
you know how much I think of you. Tell Geof- 
frey, who must be wdth you before this time, 
how often I lay in my state-room on the steamer, 
looking up through the little port-hole at the 
stars, and wondering whether my "better half” 
could see the same that I saw. It will not be 
long now before w’e are all together, again. Till 
then, believe that it is all right with me ! 


A SOLDIEK AND A PIERO. 


241 


CHAPTER XV. 

A SOLDIER AND A HERO. 

HE stage was at the door, and Herr Wohlien, 



JL wdth his daughter, was just about to leave 
Mentone for his home. 

As the rosy little German maiden entered the 
vehicle, she turned, her foot on the step, and 
held out, in her frank, simple way, her hands to 
Arthur and Jack. 

^^Auf Wiedersehen she said. **We shall 
meet again soon.” 

” Soon,” said Arthur, with a smile. 

Auf Wiedersehen echoed Jack. "It may 
not be soon, mein Frdulein, but surely I believe 
it will be some day ! ” 

Else Wohlien did not notice the words. How 
should she, with Arthur’s lively rattle of talk in 
her ears? But Jimmie heard and understood 
the emphasis, and turning, looked at Jack with 


16 


242 


IN THE WORLD. 


sad, questioning eyes. Jack shook his head, 
with his finger on his lip, and the roguish look in 
his face ; but the words haunted Jimmie all day. 

A week passed, and Arthur had left them 
”for a short journey,” as he said. 

”To Heidelberg?” asked Fanny, demurely, 
but with uplifted eyelirows. 

” Possibly,” returned Arthur, with would-be 
nonchalance. " One of my old classmates is 
studying at the University there. I shall find 
you better. Jack, when I come back again.” 

" More nearly ready to go home ! ” said Jack, 
giving his hand, with a smile. 

The beautiful, balmy da^^s passed by, but they 
did not bring Arthur back, nor did the soft air 
waft any messages of health and strength to Jack. 
He grew feebler and feebler. No longer was the 
pretence kept up between Fanny and himself 
about "not being able to walk so far ^o-cZay,” 
"not feeling in the mood for exertion.” It was 
plainly, "I cannot do it.” 

At length, one evening, when the last gold and 
crimson rays of the setting sun burnished the 
still waters, lay like a halo round Jack’s head, 
and transfigured his face, he turned suddenly to 


A SOLDIER AND A HERO. 


243 


Jimmie, who was alone in the room with him. "I 
believe it must come, Jimmie, the more that 
Fanny is not here to listen. I cannot hold it 
together any longer ! ” 

” What, Jack?” Jimmie asked, with a forebod- 
ing of his meaning. 

” Why, this poor old shell,” said Jack. "Jim- 
mie, do you think I may tell the dear girl? Do 
you think she can bear it?” 

Jimmie had risen, and stood by his cousin’s 
sofa, with a troubled look in his face. 

"Why, Jimmie,” said Jack, looking up with a 
radiant smile, '"you are never going to wear 
such a long countenance as that when I get out 
of prison — are you ? ” 

"I ought not,” said Jimmie, turning away his 
face. 

"No, surely not,” said Jack, in the same play- 
ful tone. "Don’t you remember the family re- 
joicings when Guy came back from his captivity ? 
Isn’t my prison a pretty narrow one too, think 
you ? ” 

Jimmie could not find words to answer just 
then ; so the two sat silent, Jack still holding 
his cousin’s hand, till the golden light had 


244 


IN THE WORLD. 


ebbed away, and the twilight shadows w^ere com- 
ing on. 

” I’m sorry, Jim, dear,” said Jack, at last, 
" that I should have to leave Fanny to you. 
Somehow, 'our Jimmie’ has always been such a 
domestic character that we do not seem to have 
any right to put him into positions of responsi- 
bility or anxiety — ” 

"O, Jack!” said Jimmie, reproachfully, "do 
you think me unfit for trust?” 

"Anything rather; but I cannot bear to make 
you anxious. Still I thought it best to speak to 
you at once, rather than run the risk of sending 
for Arthur unnecessarily.” 

"Then there is a chance — ” Jimmie began. 

"No, Jim,” said Jack, firmly, "no chance that 
Avay. I meant it might be too late. I might not 
be here.” 

"You speak as if you were going liome^^ said 
Jimmie; "and, indeed. Jack, I am sure it is 
nothing more to you ! There, I will not be self- 
ish any longer. You may trust me.” 

"And Fanny,” said Jack, pressing Jimmie’s 
hand. "Do you think I may tell her?” 

In the darkness, as he spoke, a hand was put 


A SOLDIER AND A HERO. 


245 


out and laid on his, and a voice said, very 
quietly, — 

^'You cannot tell her anything, Jack, that she 
has not already heard or guessed for herself ! ” 

It was a firm, brave voice ; but it sounded to 
Jimmie as if the tears were only just dried out of 
it, and by a vigorous etfort of the will. Jack 
started, and dropped Jimmie’s hand, groping in 
the darkness for his sister’s. 

"Are you there, Fanny?” 

For answer she only laid his head on her 
shoulder, and sat with her arms clasped round 
him. 

"And you have heard it all, then?” he said, 
softly. "But you will not mind much, little 
sister — will you? I know we have been a great 
deal to each other; so much that I cannot bear 
to think of the parting ; but you will remember — 
won’t you? — what a poor, useless life mine has 
been these last few years, and be glad with me 
that I shall go to a broader, better one.” 

"I shall remember,” said Fanny, aloud, "that 
you have been my helper all my life, Jack, and 
that I have to thank the years you call so useless 
for any good there may be in me 1 I owe you 


246 


IN THE WORLD. 


too much to be wicked enough to think of my- 
self now ! ” 

"Then I must not call them useless years, 
either, Fanny,’’ said her brother. "Indeed, I 
should not have called them wasted, or anything 
that happened unforeseen.” 

"You mean to remind me that I should not 
call this unforeseen,” Fanny said; "and I will 
not be selfish, I promise — only let us forget it 
to-night ! ” 

So they sat on in the darkness, generally silent, 
but with hands that held each other fast. Then 
Jack sent them away to bed, telling them how 
free from pain he felt, and what a peaceful, 
happy night he should have. 

The darkness ebbed away before the bright 
moonlight, the night was radiant again with a 
golden glory, and not a sound was heard to tell 
when the Angel entered the quiet room. But 
when the morning sun came to waken the sleep- 
ing world to new life, one sleeper needed no 
arousing. A bright soul had escaped from its 
narrow prison, and Jack had waked at last to 
his wider work ! 


A SOLDIER AND A HERO. 


247 


feel happier so, Jimmie,” Fanny said, as 
the cousins stood together by the grave on the 
lovely Mentone shore. "It seems so like Jack 
to lie just where he fell. No, I hardly mean that ; 
but I think our dear boy would have been better 
pleased to have me show how little I thought of 
this as himself, — how sure I should be that he 
was always with me, whether his grave were here 
or at home.” 

Fanny always spoke as if Jack were with her 
still, and as if all his wishes were known to her, 
as much as when he had spoken them himself. 
"He would not wish to have anything but his 
name on the little stone, Jimmie,” she said; "so 
I will not say what I should like.” 

But, when she went to lay her farewell flowers 
on the grave which was so far from being all that 
was left of Jack, she found it as she had wished. 
On the little headstone were carved the sword 
and laurel crown she had longed to lay there, 
and, beneath the name, her own words, — 

“A soldier in life’s battle-field, 

A hero in the strife ! ” 


248 


IN THE WORLD. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


ARTHUR STANDS ON HIS OWN FEET AT LAST. 


I T has been truly said that we are seldom 
placed in emergencies for which we are un- 
fitted, the needful strength having often only 
awaited this very discipline to call it forth. So 
Jimmie, shielded and sheltered as his life had 
always been, found, when left alone in a foreign 
land, with his cousin dependent on his support 
and consolation, the very active energy and cheer- 
fulness which the occasion required, and which 
his shrinking, studious life had, hitherto, so little 
developed. 

But Fanny was not one of the people who 
become, in their bereavement, a ” dead weight,” 
crushing their friends with the hopeless melan- 
choly of their words and looks. Strong in the 
belief that her dear brother was with her still, 
and that the journey home he had taken so hap- 


i 


AHTHUR ON IIIS FEET AT LAST. 


249 


pily was no wide gulf of separation, Fanny was 
her own brave self, her lively spirits only tem- 
pered with a gentler sweetness, like that which 
had come over Jack himself, when, full of fresh 
courage and hopefulness, he had been preparing 
for the war. 

Arthur had not come back to Mentone. Indeed, 
they had only just written to him of Jack’s death. 

"We will go to Heidelberg to join him, Jim- 
mie,” Fanny said. "You are all ready for home, 
now, and I have no reason for lingering here. 
Let us go to Arthur as soon as possible.” 

And so, in the early September days, they 
turned their backs on the Italian town which the 
memory of that golden evening and that little 
marble slab would make so dear to them, and 
went to Heidelberg. 

"Mr. Stanley was no longer there,” they were 
told at the hotel, from which Arthur’s letters had 
been Avritten, though, indeed, weeks had passed 
since they had heard from him. "He had gone 
away some time since.” 

Whither was not so easily ascertained. Mr. 
Stanley had been to the hotel once or tAvice to 
inquire for letters, but had left no address. 


250 


IN THE WORLD. 


" Miffht not Herr Wohlien know of his where- 
abouts?” Jimmie had suggested ; and that seeming 
the most feasible method of discovery, Jimmie 
had inquired the locality of the professor's house, 
and set out at once. 

The house — a modest-looking little dwelling — 
was easily found, but the inmates were all away. 
" The Herr Professor was giving lessons, the 
Praulein was gone for a walk — very likely Herr 
Stanley had accompanied her.” 

Thus much, in the lowest of German dialects, 
Jimmie obtained from the smiling, broad-faced old 
woman who opened the door ; and, sorely puzzled 
with the mystery of Arthur’s being there, Jim- 
mie retraced his steps to the hotel. As he was 
turning the corner, however, he came full upon 
Arthur himself ; nor was he alone, for by his side 
walked the fresh-faced little maiden Else, and 
both were talking so earnestly that they had 
almost passed Jimmie unrecognized. But Else, 
chancing to look up, caught his eye, and sprang, 
with outstretched hands, to welcome him. 

"Are you here? Herr Stanley, look! It is 
your brother.” 

It might have been fancy, but Jimmie thought 


ARTHUR ON HIS FEET AT LAST. 


251 


that there was some confusion and embarrassment 
in Arthur’s greeting. It might have been only 
that Else’s welcome was so cordial, and her eaofcr- 
ness for news of Fanny so genuine, that Arthur’s 
manner seemed, by comparison, somewhat forced 
and constrained. 

"And Fanny is here with you, of course?” he 
said. "Poor girl! I have only just got your 
note, Jim.” 

"And you will go to her immediately, Herr 
Stanley ! ” Else exclaimed, the tears springing to 
her blue eyes at the allusion to Jack. "And tell 
her how much I think of her, and love her, and 
how soon I shall come to see her and tell her of 
my sympathy.” 

All this Else had said in her unaffected, simple 
fashion, the German words having actually a home 
sound to Jimmie from the cordial affection and 
feeling in the tone. 

" Go, Herr Stanley — we shall not look for you 
at tea,” she repeated ; and then, with her pretty 
little Auf Wiedersehen! she had gone into the 
modest little house, and Arthur and Jimmie had 
turned towards the hotel. 

At drst the constraint of their meeting seemed 


252 


IX THE WORLD. 


still to hang about Arthur, as if he hardly knew 
how to begin the conversation ; and it was onlj^ 
after some minutes that he said, — 

"I scarcely expected you to come to Heidel- 
berg for me, Jimmie. I meant to have gone to 
you. I suppose poor Fanny is quite crushed by 
losing Jack?” 

" O, no,” said Jimmie, earnestly; "she cannot 
be, because she feels so little that she has lost 
him. She is so brave and bright, Arthur, that I 
never can wonder at her enough. We came to 
Heidelberg because she wished it. I am well, 
and ready, as she says, to go home, and she did 
not think it right to linger longer at Mentone. 
So, as you did not come to us, we came to 
join you.” 

" And you were surprised at not finding me at 
the hotel?” Arthur asked, with the slight con- 
scious flush rising in his face. 

"Yes. You are at the Wohliens’, you sa}^?” 

The answer was not given till they were in 
Fanny’s presence. 

"You are at the Wohliens’?” Jimmie repeated, 
when Arthur had said to Fanny what, in his aflec- 
tion for, and sympathy with his favorite cousin, 
he knew so well how to say. 


ARTHUR ON HIS FEET AT LAST. 


253 


*' Why, yes,” said Arthur, averting his eyes; 

I found it so dreary at the hotel. There is 
something friendly and home-like about their little 
house ; then I am drawing with the professor. 
Besides, I find .the household life the very best 
school for learning to speak German.” 

Fanny did not answer aloud, but her eyes 
twinkled mischievously, and Jimmie heard her 
whisper under her breath, " Hamilton and Hilde- 
garde ! ” 

” You will hardly find it worth while to come 
back here for the few days of our stay,” she said, 
when Arthur rose. ”I am anxious, of course, to 
get home soon, now that they miss me so much 
more,” — a stifled sighj — ^'and you will, of course, 
go with us ? ” 

"Yes; O, of course,” said Arthur, rather ab- 
sently ; and the messages of love to Else with 
which Fanny commissioned him seemed likely to 
fall short of their destination. 

Else, however, fulfilled her promise of coming 
in person to Fanny, and appeared with the morn- 
im>- like one of the sunbeams to which Jimmie had 
likened her. 

A woman’s sympathy is, after all, the most 


254 


IN THE WORLD. 


soothing balm to a woman ; and Fanny, left alone 
with her boy cousins in this foreign country, felt 
the first touch of home when this little German 
maiden, with arms clasped round her, and tears 
welling up in her blue eyes as she spoke, told her 
of her sorrow for her loss. 

"Ah ! I thought -so little,” Else said, " I thought 
so little, when I told him we should soon meet 
again, what a long time it might be ! But you 
have him safe there — ” 

"Yes, always,” Fanny answered, smiling 
brightly through her tears. "But tell me about 
yourself. Else. What are you doing?” 

" O, it was the same old thing always. Papa 
had his drawing-classes from morning till night, 
and she — O, she kept house with Licschen, or 
gave her little lessons too ; only small helps, of 
course, but it was so good to be able to do 
something I ” 

And Else’s face was as cloudless as the sky in 
saying it. 

"And my cousin Arthur has been staying at 
your house?” 

" Yes.” The color slowly deepened in Else’s 
cheeks. "Herr Arthur was very good. They 


ARTHUR ON HIS FEET AT LAST. 


255 


had always wished to let one room, and his com- 
pany was so dear to papa. Then he was teaching 
her English. Who knows but she might one day 
be able to give lessons in that ? ” 

" But it takes a long time to learn English,” 
said Fanny, laughing. ”You must be a very apt 
student. Else, if you learn to speak English flu- 
ently before Arthur goes.” 

And then the bright, sunny smile had faded 
away, and Else had gone home, looking more 
grave than was her wont. 

The stay at Heidelberg proved longer than the 
travellers had proposed. "There seemed to be 
a charm about the place,” Jimmie said, with a 
smile. Yet, though this charm must surely have 
been the presence of the Wohliens, why did Fanny 
never leave their house without looking grave 
and troubled? Well, there was a little secret 
uneasiness in Fanny’s mind, and when she had 
been watching Arthur and Else together, it gen- 
erally showed itself in her face. 

Fanny was neither over-romantic nor unduly 
fanciful ; but when she had watched the two 
bending together over their English books, noted 
Arthur’s attention to the girl, and her unconscious 


256 


IN THE WORLD. 


joyousuess in his presence, was it any wonder 
that Fanny should question whether all this sun- 
shiue would not be dimmed when the presence 
was withdrawn? 

am afraid it is getting too earnest,” she 
said to herself. " There is nothing of the 
flirt about Else, but Arthur — O, dear! I am 
afraid it has been play with him all through a 
lifetime.” 

What has Arthur been doing with himself 
here. Else?” she said, one day. "You can 
tell us all about him, if he has been at your 
house.” 

"O,” said Else, hesitating, "how can I tell? 
It is as papa says; ho makes the house bright 
and pleasant, and for the rest — he amuses him- 
self, 1 suppose ! ” 

The answer was too much in accordance with 
Fanny’s own thoughts to pass wholly unnoticed. 

"He always does that,” she said, as her com- 
panion raised her eyes to her face. "I should 
like to hear something more earnest about him 
for once.” 

"You are finding fault with Herr Stanley,” 
said Else, timidly; "it is true he is not all he 


ARTHUR ON HIS FEET AT LAST. 


257 


might be. O, forgive me ! I had forgotten — he 
is your cousin.” 

” No matter for that, Else,” said Fanny, smil- 
ing. "Speak out. What is it? I know my 
cousin very thoroughly myself. Now tell me 
your opinion. You say he is not all he might 
be.” 

"I sometimes think so,” said Else, with down- 
cast eyes. "It depends so much on whom he is 
with. But I am too frank. Don’t ask me to 
speak, dear Fraulein Fanny. Herr Arthur is so 
good and kind at heart, that he might be any- 
thing he chose ; that is all. But tell me : is he 
never in earnest, then, in what he does and 
says ? ” 

"Not enough so,” said Fanny, shaking her 
head. But she was sorry, a few moments after, 
that she had answered so, for Else looked grave 
and abstracted during the rest of her stay, and 
her very step, as Fanny watched her going away, 
seemed to have lost its spring. 

For a few days after, it almost seemed as if she 
avoided Arthur. If he came into the room dur- 
ing Fanny’s visits. Else would find some excuse 
for leaving the cousins together ; if he appeared 
17 


258 


IN THE WORLD. 


at the hotel duriog her own calls, she would 
have some errand elsewhere. In her own home 
she was generally absorbed, nowadays, in house- 
hold matters, which left little time for reading or 
studying English. And, withal, she had lost the 
sunshine out of her voice and eye. 

As for Arthur, he was often so moody and dis- 
traught, that Fanny at last resolved to speak of 
it. These two cousins had always kept up their 
odd cronyship, rallying one another in the old, 
bantering way on the foibles of each, and some- 
times dropping in a solid word of advice amid all 
the froth of fun. 

"You are not so happy as Jimmie at the idea 
of going home, Arthur,” she began. 

"No? Why, I thought I was ready. Why, 
indeed, should I dawdle here any longer? I am 
doing no good.” 

"Nor any harm?” said Fanny, with a quick 
glance. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "No harm, so far 
as I know. I am always on the negative side, 
you know, Fanny — neither one thing nor the 
other.” 

"You should be ashamed to own it, then,” said 


ARTHUR ON ms FEET AT LAST. 


259 


Fanny, with spirit. "Rouse up, Arthur! Go 
home, and be something at last. It is time to be 
in earnest now.” 

" I wish I were sure that I was not,” muttered 
Arthur, with a sort of sigh. 

" What is the matter?” said Fanny, turning at 
the sound. " You don’t look happy, Arthur. 
Are you so?” 

"Anything but it,” said Arthur, with another 
shrug. " AVhy, my dear Fanny, I am positively 
wretched, at times.” 

Fanny looked at him in silence for a minute, 
then crossed the room, and standing beside him, 
said, bravely, — 

" You will be wretched, Arthur, jiist so long as 
you don’t know your own mind. You will' be 
wretched while you trifle so with life, and make 
others miserable that you may be amused for an 
hour. You will get rid of your wretchedness 
just so soon as you make up your mind to a 
brave, straightforward, manly course. Let me 
advise you, for once. Be a man ; take your res- 
olution, and go home to your work.” 

" I will,” said Arthur, shaking her hand heart- 
ily. " You are a good adviser, Fanny.” 


260 


IN THE WORLD. 


He went straightway from the room, and 
Fanny, feeling a little frightened at her own 
daring, was sure that he had understood her 
meaning. 

And now preparations for departure were made 
in earnest, and nothing was heard but talk of 
home. Evidently Fanny’s words had taken 
effect, for, though Arthur said nothing more, his 
very air had in it a resolution as if he were done 
with the dawdling, loitering life he had been 
leading in Heidelberg. Their passage had been 
engaged on board the German steamer from Bre- 
men, and the last evening before their departure 
had come. Fanny had walked over to Else Woh- 
lien’s little house for a last talk with her friend. 
Of late. Else had rather avoided them, she fan- 
cied, and had required to be sought, instead of 
coming to them early and late, as she used. 

As Fanny neared the house, she saw through 
the window, which stood open. Else and Arthur 
standing in the back part of the room. His back 
was turned to the street, but by his gestures 
Fanny could see how earnestly he was speaking. 
Else’s head was bent down, but Fanny fancied, 
even in the half-light of the room, that she saw 


ARTHUU ON HIS FEET AT LAST. 


261 


tears on her cheek. Neither saw her, or heard 
her approach, till she stood on the threshold of 
the room. Then Arthur started, dropped Else’s 
hand, which he had held, and, hurrying past 
Fanny with barely a word, left the room. 

" Else,” said Fanny, impulsively, going up to 
her friend, ^Svhat is the matter? You are 
crying.” 

"Not now,” said Else, wiping away her tears, 
and looking up, with a smile. "Is it any wonder 
that I cry, when I think that I shall not see you 
after to-day ? ” 

"You should rather say you are crying because 
you ever saw us at all,” said Fanny, vehemently, 
speaking more in reply to her own thoughts than 
to Else’s words. 

"It would not be true,” said the little maiden, 
resolutely. "No, dear Fraulein, I am not seltish 
enough to say that. If I may not have hap- 
piness always, I am at least grateful for what 
I have had, and never sorrowful that I have 
seen you.” 

And Fanny would not say any more of the 
indignation that filled her heart whenever she 
thought of Arthur, and the cloud he was bringing 


262 


IN THE WORLD. 


over a brave, bright little soul — and for what? 
That he might ''amuse himself.” 

As she left the house, Arthur’s chamber door 
shut, and he came hurrying after her. 

"Let me walk with you, Fanny. It is grow- 
ing dusk.” 

"There is no need to trouble you,” she said, 
walking faster; "I can go quite well alone.” 

But he caught up with her, and drew her arm 
through his own. 

"Have I olFended you in any way, Fanny, that 
you want to be rid of my company ? ” 

"You have done more, Arthur,” said Fanny, 
speaking in her old, impulsive fashion. "The 
man who is so far gone in selfishness that he has 
no thought for the feelings of other people, and 
can trifle to the last with a heart he is not worthy 
to fill a corner of, has something more than my 
passing indignation.” 

"You are very hard on me, Fanny,” said Ar- 
thur, coloring. "Kemember, you have never 
heard me plead my cause.” 

"I have no need to 7iea?’,” said Fanny ; "I have 
seen for myself.” 

" Then you condemn me utterly,” said Arthur, 


ARTHUR ON HIS FEET AT LAST. 


263 


"and despise me accordingly? You should have 
more charity, Fanny. I should not need to re- 
mind you of the stumbling-blocks in my way.” 

"I should not need to remind yow, Arthur,” 
said Fanny, sorrowfully, " that, with an honorable 
man, a stumbling-block which proves no obstacle 
to trifling should not be considered for a moment. 
Despise you, Arthur? No, I can’t do that yet; 
but I am grieved and disappointed more than I 
can tell you. There, let me go in alone, and try 
to forget it.” 

And Fanny, with tears in her eyes, hurried up 
the hotel stairs to her room. Arthur remained 
standing in the street, just where she had left 
him, for a few minutes, his head bent down, his 
eyes fixed on the ground, as if in irresolution. 
Suddenly he turned Avith an air of determination, 
and walked firmly and quickly towards the house 
he had just left. 

It mi«:ht have been an hour later that the door 
of the little parlor at the hotel was opened 
quickly, and Arthur came in. Jimmie Avas in his 
room, busy over the finishing touches to his 
trunk, and Fanny AA^as sitting alone in the twi- 
light. Arthur came up to her chair, and touched 
her shoulder. 


264 ~ IN THE WORLD. 

"Fanny,” said he, abruptly, "I am not going 
with you to-morrow. I shall stay in Heidel- 
berg.” 

"Not going with us? But, Arthur, your pas- 
sage is engaged.” 

"No longer. I have been to see my friend 
Lindsay, who has been giving English lessons at 
the university, and who has been meaning, as I 
knew, to make a tour home this autumn. It is 
all settled. I take his place, he mine.” 

"But, Arthur,” said Fanny, only half under- 
standing, " what is the meaning of it? ” 

"The meaning is,” said Arthur, "that I am in 
earnest, at last. Yes, Fanny,” as she looked up 
in astonishment, " you have made me ashamed of 
myself, at length. I am in earnest, for once, and 
for some one beside myself.” 

"Do you really mean — ” Fanny began. 

"I really mean,” said the young man, "that I 
am in love. I really mean that Else has told me- 
she can love me, and I really think that, with 
such a noble, generous little soul to care for me 
and keep me straight, I shall be worthy all you 
can say of me, Fanny, if I cannot make somo 
sacrifice to deserve what I have won.” 


ARTHUR ON HIS FEET AT LAST. 


265 


j Fanny fairly sprung from her chair. 

: "Then, Arthur, I beg your pardon a thousand 

times for all I have said and thought of you. But 
I could not believe it of you, that you would trifle 
in such a matter, and with such a girl ! Then 
you are really going to stay here, and work and 
wait for her?” 

" Yes,” said Arthur, smiling. " Don't look as 
1 if you thought it such a sudden thing, Fanny. I 
: have been making up my mind for days between 
being a man and a selfish brute, and your words 
only gave me the impulse I should have got for 
myself by to-morrow.” 

"It is a great risk,” said Fanny. She had be- 
gun to look grave now. " Don't be hurt, Arthur ; 
but it is so easy to mistake impulses for emotions, 
and this will be such a new thing for you.” 

"Yes,” said Arthur, "it is a new thing, I know, 
for me to be thinking, planning, and working for 
any one but myself. But, Fanny, on the other 
hand, it is a new thing for me to have a real, 
deep, earnest feeling for any one ! I am not 
mistaken ; you need not fear me. I love Else, 
and sacrifice for her will be no sacrifice. Don’t 
be afraid, Fanny; it is no sudden impulse. 


266 


IN THE WORLD. 


You may believe that it will be the saving : 
of me.” 

Strange as it was to hear such words from , 
Arthur, Fanny could not look at him, as he r 
spoke, without feeling, and feeling thankfully, 
how true his words were. 

"I do believe you, Arthur,” she said, giving i 
him her hand, " and I am heartily glad for you. ^ 
The more you say, the more I respect you for - 
your resolve, hard as I may think it will be for 
you. O, Arthur, you have a treasure in Else.” f 

” 1 hope I may deserve her,” said Arthur, with r 
feeling. "I have decided to stay and work here, 
Fanny, . rather than at home, because I feel how I 
much more heartily I can work for my new pur- j 
pose, where there is nothing to remind me of my 
old self, not to speak of our being spared the 
separation. You may think of me, then, giving 
English lessons and drawing lessons, and hoping 
that I may not turn out a second Jacob, and have 
to wait seven years for my Rachel.” 

"God speed you, then, dear Arthur,” Fanny 
said, heartily. " You may be sure that my sym- 
pathy will be with you both.” 

" And you will make my peace at home ? ” s.aid 
Arthur, with a smile. 


ARTHUR ON HIS FEET AT LAST. 


267 


”I shall leave that to Jimmie,” said Fanny, 
turning to her younger cousin, who had just 
entered the room. "I am sure no word of mine 
wdll be needed while you have him to plead your 
cause.” 

Truly, ” we know not what a day may bring 
forth ; ” and Fanny had never imagined, twenty- 
four hours before, that her parting words to Else 
would be spoken to Arthur’s betrothed. 

”Yes, I love him and trust him,” Else said, 
looking straight into Fanny’s face, with a happy 
light in her eyes. " Dear Fraulein, you need not 
fear for us. I know all you can tell me of him ; 
but I believe, O, I do believe, that he only needs 
to have some one to think of and care for, to 
become all he might be. It is only so strange to 
think that I should be that some one ! You will 
all blame me ; I am sure of it ; but — ” 

”\Ve shall all thank you. Else,” said Fanny, 
kissing her. 

And so. the two cousins set out on their home- 
ward journey, leaving Arthur to work out his 
way in the new world in which he had chosen his 
place. But, however strange this new life might 
seem to them, they had no fears for him in it. 


268 


IN THE WORLD. 


They felt sure of what I wish that you, tooJ 
should know, — that this first pure, deep, earnest 
feeling of Arthur’s would be his saviour, and help 
him walk firmly, and stand upright, where for so 
long he had wavered, and leaned on others. 


% 


LILLIE IN A NEW LIGHT. 


269 


CHAPTER XVII. 

LILLIE IN A NEW LIGHT. 

HE summer days had worn by slowly and 



JL heavily to those at home, for no morning 
dawned when the thought did not awake with 
them, ” Will not our Geoffrey come back to us to- 
day?” and no evening wore to its close without 
the heavy feeling of disappointed hope, ” He will 
not come to-night I ” ” For I cannot give him 


up,” Mr. Stanley had said. "I may be wrong in 
feeling so, but I cannot think of our bright boy 
lying in a watery grave ! ” 

Little Lillie firmly believed that her father’s 
forebodings were founded on fact, and this saying 
of his gave her almost as much confidence as 
if she had been told that her brother was not 
drowned. 

And, while they waited and hoped, the sum- 
mer slipped away. 


270 


IN THE WORLD. 


Lillie Dalton had^not come back to Rockedgej 
again, nor, indeed, had her letters told them* 
much of her life at Newport. Short and unsatis- 
factory, scarcely more than messages of love to Sue 
and the children, they would have known little 
enough about her if it had not been for a long 
ejiistle from ]\Irs. Melville, who took fitful in- 
terest in her nephew and his surroundings, and 
wrote, from time to time, letters long enough to 
bridge over the periods of silence. One passage 
in this letter attracted unusual attention. 

" I cannot close my letter, dear Guy, without 
giving you at least a hint of something which is 
more than a report in our circles at present, and 
which will have the same interest — and I hope 
the same delightful interest — for you as for 
myself. Matrimonial gossips say (and I do not 
contradict them) that our dear Lillie is about to 
be engaged to Mr. Stephen Lenox, who has been, 
for the last two years, one of the most prominent 
young men in New York society. You are so 
well acquainted with him as a friend of Arthur, 
that I need say no more about him ; but you will, 
I know, share my pleasure that Lillie should have 
made such a conquest, and have such a brilliant 


LILLIE IN A NEW LIGHT. 


271 


future before her. But mind! — not a word of 
this to her; the engagement is not 'out/ only 
' understood/ and girls are so sensitive on these 
points that I should never hope for forgiveness 
from Lillie, did she suspect I had betrayed her 
to you.” 

"Well?” said Guy, looking at Bob, interroga- 
tively, as he finished reading Mie letter, which had 
been a subject of much conversation throughout 
the day. 

" Well,” was all Bob’s reply, as he slowly 
folded the letter, and laid it on the table. 

"I should like to be able to dismiss the matter 
as quietly. Bob,” went on Guy, when a minute 
had passed without Bob’s adding another word. 
"There, are few things I would not prefer for 
Lillie to seeing her the wife of a young man like 
Stephen Lenox — a mere worldling, with neither 
principles nor intellect to gain him respect. There 
is nothing I dread so much for Lillie as a mar- 
riao*e with a man she cannot honor.” 

O 

"You believe it, then?” said Bob, looking up 
at last from the table, where he seemed to be 
still considering the letter. 

" I would gladly do anything else,” said Guy, 


272 


IN THE WORLD. 


with a gesture of anuo3\'ince ; " but I am afraid 
there is too much truth in it. My aunt has 
alwa^^s had a great deal of influence over Lillie, 
as you know, and I am afraid her precepts have 
sometimes fallen into very receptive soil.” 

The two friends stood for a moment silent. 
Bob with his eyes again on the ground, Guy 
watching him with a scrutinizing expression. 

” If it were true,” he said at last, " I should 
say I had been disappointed in my lifelong idea 
of Lillie. But, indeed,” — coloring, as his c^^es 
met Guy’s, — " disappointments are not such rare 
things in life, after all — ” 

"And, therefore, better prepared for in time. 
Bob,” said his friend, holding out his hand. 

"Perhaps — undoubtedly,” was Bob’s answer; 
but the mutual heartiness with which the two 
grasped each other’s hand, showed how plainly" 
each understood and sympathized with the other. 

That was all that was said between them about 
the matter ; and if, in secret. Bob found it neces- 
sary to discipline some wishes of his, and to pre- 
pare for storms of disappointment by "reefing” 
some very bright hopes he had hardly known 
before were hidden in his heart, no one was the 


LILLIE IN A NEW LIGHT. 


273 


wiser for it but himself. We all know that, as 
life goes on, and we step forth more and more 
boldly on the path that leads us out into the world, 
many of our air-castles are rudely thrown down, 
and many a cherished idol falls, broken, from the 
pedestal where we had so fondly placed it! It 
was a lesson in life Bob Stanley had learned 
early. 

Meantime, October had come round again, with 
its many-colored coat of gold, and crimson, and 
russet brown, and Bob was back in Cambridge, 
studjdng hard for the work in life he had chosen. 

"Earnestness in seeking the truth, and courage 
in speaking it,” Mr. Stanley had said, smiling. 
"If you set out with those weapons in your 
armory, you can afford to let popularity give you 
the slip.” 

"It will be a long time before I need trouble 
myself about that,” Bob had returned ; " and, in- 
deed, the seeking is all I need think of as yet.” 

An earnest seeker after truth Bob certainly 
was, and those who do their part as he did, 
preach, perforce, as they go. 

With the cooler weather the home party had 
begun to look for their travellers, and all eyes 
18 


274 


IN THE WORLD. 


brightened as they looked at the empty places so 
soon to be filled. 

It is true that one place would never be filled 
again — their letters had already told them that ; 
but so large a portion of Fanny’s bright, trusting 
faith had found its way across the sea in her let- 
ters, that all felt, with her, that cousin Jack’s place 
among them was not empty, even though he was 
not there in person to fill it; for was he not, 
after all, with them as much here as across the 
sea, and always with those who had loved him, 
wherever they might be? 

"I wish some one could go on to New York 
to meet poor Fanny,” old Mr. Osborne said one 
evening; ”it seems so dreary and desolate for 
her, poor girl, coming back to home scenes 
without the person who has always shared them 
with her.” 

" She has Arthur and Jimmie with her, you 
know, grandpapa,” Sue said. 

" Yes, yes,” said the old gentleman, impatient- 
ly ; "but some one fresh from home, I mean. 
And Jimmie, too ; I think we have been wrong 
in never writing to him about Geoffrey. Some 
one should be there to say a word before he 
comes home.” 


LILLIE IN A NEW LIGHT. 


275 


Mr. Osborne had grown much older — hrolcen 
very much, as people say — during this last sum- 
mer. Anxiety about Geoffrey, and now grief for 
his oldest grandson, had had their effect upon 
him, and made his wishes, when^they were ex- 
pressed, almost a law to his family. 

So Sue had said, soothingly, ”WelJ, sir, we 
must try if it can be arranged.” 

"I hardly know whom we can find to go. Sue,” 
Mr. Osborne said, dejectedly. "Your uncle Ar- 
thur is always so absorbed in his parish; Guy 
has gone off on his w^estern trip ; and Charley is 
too busy with college to be called off even if he 
w^ere not the last person in the world to prepare 
anj^ one for bad new^s — though, indeed, poor 
boy ! he has had something now to tone down 
his spirits a little. We must give it up. Sue; 
they are all too busy, except me, and I’m too 
old to be of any use ! ” 

"Except to a good many people here at home, 
sir,” said Sue, cheerily ; for Sue Osborne, in 
changing her name, had never changed her nature, 
and still thoroughly believed in bright words, 
thoughts, and looks. "Why should not Bob go? 
A few days’ absence would not matter so much 
to him.” 


276 


IN THE WORLD. 


And Bob, being consulted on the expediency 
of his going to New York to meet the travellers, 
consented at once, and went. 

He had not been in New York since his visit 
of the winter before, and, from the moment of 
his stepping from the train in the depot, his 
thoughts had gone back to that time. The steamer 
had not yet got in, and, as waiting and expecting 
is always wearisome work, and uncertainty an 
unsettling state. Bob did not find it as easy to 
control his thoughts as at other times. In the 
afternoon, when he strolled through the familiar 
streets, he found himself back again, in fancy, to 
the bright winter walks and morning chats with 
Lillie. He found himself going over in memory 
what he had said, and how she had looked and 
replied, — a recollection both pleasing and dis- 
appointing, — and at last he found himself turning 
down the street which had so often been the goal 
of his morning strolls. 

Autumn though it was, but few of the summer 
birds had come back to their city quarters, and 
the greater part of the houses looked, with their 
closed shutters and blank windows, lifeless and 
deserted. Bob glanced up at Mrs. Melville’s 


LILLIE IN A NEW LIGHT. 


277 


house as he passed, expecting to see it as dreary- 
looking as the rest. So it was, if dust on the 
blinds and window-sills were the sign of deser- 
tion ; and Bob would have gone by without a 
thought of its being tenanted, had not his eye 
chanced to fall on a window in one of the upper 
stories. The blind there was unclosed, and there 
was a little peep of the rose-colored curtains he 
remembered to have heard Lillie specify in de- 
scribing the furnishings of her ideal boudoir. 

With an impulse which he was almost disposed 
himself to laugh at. Bob ran up the steps, and 
rang the bell. Steps were heard in answer to 
the summons ; but there was nothing surprising in 
that, as the house was always kept open, its busy 
master seldom following his wife in her gay sum- 
mer Sittings. The door was quickly opened, 
and one of the servants looked out, as if to see 
who was there, before admitting a guest. The 
woman had an anxious, agitated air, and her eyes 
were red with crying. 

”The family are not in town, I suppose?” Bob 
said, struck at once by the woman's manner. 
" Mrs. Melville and Miss Dalton, I mean.” 

" O, but they are, indeed, sir,” said the woman, 


278 


IN THE WORLD. 


speaking in the same hurried, fluttered way. 
"But I hardly know whether Mrs. Melville is 
able — But walk in, Mr. Stanley. I’ll ask, at 
any rate, if Miss Lillie can see you.” 

Bob followed the servant silently up stairs, and 
into the great parlor, whose furniture was still 
swathed in its brown holland coverings. The 
doors on the story were all closed, and every- 
thing had a chill, dreary, dead look, so at variance 
with the house whose life had always before 
seemed to Bob so gay and animated, that he 
began, insensibly, to feel as if something had 
happened. 

"Perhaps,” he said, pausing on the threshold, 
— "perhaps the family are but just arrived; per- 
haps they are not ready to see any one ? ” 

" O, I don’t know, Mr. Stanley,” said the wo- 
man, wringing her hands; "we are all in such a 
state here I hardly know what to do. I’ll go and 
ask Miss Lillie if she can see you.” 

For a few minutes after she disappeared. Bob 
walked to and fro in the long parlor, feeling 
anxious and bewildered, without knowing why. 
What could have happened? And, as he slowly 
paced the room, picturing all sorts of possibili- 


LILLIE IN A NEW LIGHT. 


279 


ties, a door at the other end of the room shut, 
and a voice exclaimed, — 

"O, Bob! Is it really you?” 

Bob turned at the sound of his name, and met 
Lillie, who came hurrying towards him, her hands 
held out. She was very pale ; her eyes looked 
swollen and sleepless, and her whole manner and 
appearance showed so plainly distress and agita- 
tion, that Bob’s anxiety was confirmed. 

Lillie,” he exclaimed, holding her hands, 
"what is it?” 

" O,” said Lillie, " I could not have believed it 
was you. Bob I O, you don’t know how I have 
wanted to see some one from home, — I felt so 
much alone, and so far away from you all 1 ” 

" But, Lillie,” said Bob, looking at her in dis- 
tress, as the tears rolled down her cheeks, 
"What is the matter? What has happened?” 

"It is no wonder you ask,” said Lillie, trying 
to smile, as she wiped away her tears; "you 
must not suppose I have been like this all the 
time. It is only because there has been nobody 
but me, and it seems so good to have some* one at 
last to speak to about our trouble, that I cry 1 ” 
Bob waited till Lillie should tell him what this 


280 


IN THE WORLD. 


trouble was, fully realizing the force of her need 
for sympathy. 

” But I am forgetting that you know nothing 
about this trouble,” she said at last. ”It seems 
as if it had happened so long ago that I cannot 
realize how few days ago it really was, — it has 
been such a shock to us ! We were at Newport, 
Bob, intending to leave for home in a few days, 
when a letter came from uncle Henry, saying that 
he wished us to return immediately. He has 
been very little with us this summer ; but when- 
ever he was, I noticed how strange and unlike 
himself he seemed, as if there were something 
that troubled him, and aunt Bella seemed irritated 
sometimes, because he told her she was spending 
too much money at Newport. Still I did not 
suspect anything till we got home, and then — O, 
Bob, uncle Henry has failed, and lost everything ! 
I don’t know how it has all happened, but he had 
engaged very largely in speculations, and there 
has been a complete crash. People talk about 
dishonesty; and he says he is disgraced for- 
ever ; and you can’t think how wretched we 
all are I” 

"But Guy knows nothing of it all,” said Bob, 


LILLIE IN A NEW LIGHT. 


281 


catching at the statement as if it had been a ray 
of hope. 

"No; how should he? He is away at the 
west, you know ; and uncle Henry has kept it 
very much to himself, in spite of his anxiety and 
trouble. It is a great surprise to people. O, 
Bob, you can’t think how changed and broken 
he is ! ” 

"And your aunt, Lillie?” 

" That is almost the worst part, and it is on her 
account that I have to be so quiet through it all — 
so different from what I am now ! ” — with a smile, 
"When uncle Henry told her, she fell at once 
into the most dreadful state, going from one fit 
of hysterics to another, and overwhelming him 
with reproaches whenever she could speak. It 
has seemed like a horrid dream, Bob — as if it 
had lasted all my life ! The servants have all left 
us, except the one woman you saw. They all 
came down on uncle Henry for their money the 
moment a word of it was breathed, and the house 
is so still and desolate that it seems as if I were 
the only person in it ! ” 

" Poor Lillie ! ” said Bob. " It is so hard for 
you to have such trouble I ” 


282 


IN THE WORLD. 


"Yes, is it not? But it has been so much, 
Bob, that I feel as if I could never be again the 
little silly, giddy thing I was before it. When I 
think of poor uncle Henry so wretched and har- 
assed, and aunt Bella so unlike herself, I feel as 
if my whole life were changed, and I grown years 
older.” 

"But, Lillie, dear,” said Bob, forgetting all 
about the Newport belle, and the years that had 
passed since he and Lillie were boy and girl to- 
gether, "you know this is not to be your life; 
you know 3"ou have your own home, and all of 
us to go to.” 

" Yes,” said Lillie, wiping away her tears again ; 
" but I must not leave them here while things 
are so. You know uncle Henry cannot keep this 
house, and I am afraid it will kill aunt Bella ; she 
would think there was no use in living without 
money, and carriages, and a fine house. I cannot 
leave her so.” 

" Cannot I do anything for you, Lillie? Would 
it be of any use for me to see your uncle or aunt ? ” 

"O, no, indeed. I do not know where uncle 
Henry is. He is shut up in his study with strange 
men, or out of the house all day ; and aunt Bella 


LILLIE IN A NEW LIGHT. 


283 


sends for me a dozen times in a mornino: to 
ask if the blinds are all closed. No one must 
know we are in town. I should feel actually like 
a bat, Bob, if I did not let one little gleam of 
sunshine into my room.” 

Lillie’s sad little smile went right to Bob’s 
heart ! 

"But, Lillie,” he said, holding her hand, "you 
must not forget to take care of yourself in all this 
trouble. You are looking as ill as when I cured 
your pale cheeks for you last winter.” 

"I have a better reason for it, at least,” said 
Lillie, smiling. "But, Bob, I have been too glad 
to see you to ask how you happened to come, and 
why you are in New York.” 

Bob told of the expected arrival of the trav- 
ellers, and of the chance nature of his call at the 
house. 

" Then I am more glad than ever for the little 
crack in my blinds,” said Lillie, "if it lets in 
something more than sunshine I Ah, I should 
like so much to see Fanny ! but you must not 
say anything to her. Bob. You say this is not 
my trouble, but it is, for the time being; and for 
uncle Henry’s sake I am as unwilling to see peo- 


284 


IN THE WORLD. 


pie as aunt Bella. Hark I I hear her calling. 
I must go/^ 

A sharp voice called from the room above. 
How different from the smooth accents Bob had 
always heard from Mrs. Melville ! 

^'But you will let me telegraph for Guy?” he 
said, detaining Lillie for a moment. "You should 
not keep it from him, Lillie ; it is not right that 
you should be left so alone ! ” 

"Yes,” said Lillie, "I think I may send for 
him. It is no use to ask uncle Henry anything 
while he is so harassed and driven ; but you will 
do as you think best. There, I must go ! Try 
to come again. Bob, if you can find a moment 
for me. Good by ! ” 

And the little figure vanished up the stairs, 
summoned once and again by the irritable voice, 
sounding as if it were ready to break into tears 
and reproaches. 

Bob, as he slowly wended his Tvay back to the 
hotel, after despatching a summons to Guy, asked 
himself if that could really be the Lillie he had 
seen swallowed up in frivolity but a few short 
months ago. 

The steamer did not get in that night, and he 


LILLIE IN A NEW LIGHT. 


285 


was haunted all the evening by the sad, sweet 
little face, and the thought of the patient, willing 
nurse, so ready to take her untried share of suf- 
fering and responsibility. 

It was actually not until his thoughts had 
almost become dreams that Bob suddenly re- 
membered, with a start, that Lillie was not so 
much alone through all this as he had fancied. 
Where, then, was Steve Lenox? Was it pos- 
sible that Lillie had not told her betrothed of 
her trouble? 


286 


IN THE WORLD. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

HOMEWARD BOUND. 

S WIFTLY as telegraphic messages travel, 
Guy could not reach New York before two 
or three days, at soonest, and Bob was loath 
indeed to go away before he had seen Lillie with 
some adviser and friend in her loneliness. In the 
early morning call, which his disturbed dreams of 
the gloomy house and its forlorn little tenant 
made so natural, Mr. Melville had suddenly 
entered the parlor while they were talking to- 
gether. Lillie might well have said he was 
changed. Bob thought, as he looked at his hag- 
gard, care-worn face, that he should hardly have 
recognized him for the prosperous, pompous mer- 
chant of a year ago. 

He had drawn back as quickly as he had en- 
tered, at sight of the unexpected visitor sitting 
with his niece, as if the faces of his fellow-beings 
were the last objects he wished to look upon. 


HOMEWARD BOUND. 


287 


"Don’t go, uncle Henry,” said Lillie; "it is 
only Bob Stanley.” 

And Mr. Melville had come forward in a lost, 
absent sort of way, and shaken hands as if he 
scarcely remembered who the guest was. But, 
as he went down the stairs. Bob heard his name, 
and, looking up, saw that the study door was 
open, and that Mr. Melville had called him. 

"Did you wish to speak to me, sir?” 

"Ah, Bob,” said Mr. Melville, carefully closing 
the door behind the visitor, "this is a sad busi- 
ness ! I little thought, a year ago, that I should 
ever call myself a ruined bankrupt ; but there is 
no telling where extravagance may not bring us. 
Your brother was a lucky fellow to get out of the 
house in time.” 

Hardly knowing what to answer. Bob stood for 
a moment irresolute and embarrassed; but seeing 
that Mr. Melville had sunk back in his arm-chair, 
with his hands raised to his forehead, he spoke. 

"I took the liberty of telegraphing for Guy 
Dalton, sir. It seemed hard for Lillie to be here 
quite alone.” 

"True, true,” said Mr. Melville, in the same 
abstracted tone. " Poor girl ! she has behaved 


288 


IN THE WORIiD. 


beautifully through it. I’m glad she has her 
money safely invested. It is well Guy saw to 
that. Did you say you had sent for him ? ” 

"Yes, sir.” 

"Ah! it is as well, perhaps,” said Mr. Mel- 
ville, with a sigh. "It is hard for Lillie, as you 
say. Guy can take her home, at least. She will 
not have a home with us any longer. But he 
must leave her with us for a little, Bob. I fear 
this will be Bella’s death-blow, and she was 
always fond of the child.” 

Bob found the sight of Mr. Melville in this 
depressed, altered state so sad a one, that he 
could only wonder at Lillie's self-control in his 
presence. As Mr. Melville said no more, and 
seemed to have forgotten his existence, he said, 
at last, — 

" I hope you will send for me, sir, if I can be 
of the slightest use. I am in town, waiting for 
the arrival of the ' City of Hamburg.’ ” 

" Thank you,” said Mr. Melville, absently. 
"I wish there were the slightest chance of my 
calling upon you.” 

And Bob went down the stairs thinking much 
more of the change in the house and its mas- 


HOMEWARD BOUND. 


289 


ter, than of the arrival of the travellers. The 
steamer, however, got in that afternoon, and 
found him standing on the wharf, hat in hand, 
ready to wave them a welcome, his heart beating 
with the pleasurable excitement which anticipa- 
tion of a meeting with friends must always 
cause. 

Yes, there was Fanny standing on the deck, 
and Jimmie beside her, looking, as he had so 
cheerily predicted, "twice himself.” But where 
was Arthur? The question was repeated when, 
some minutes later, he was shaking hands with 
Fanny and his brother. 

" Why,” said Fanny, with a twinkle of amuse- 
ment in her eye, " there hangs a tale thereby. 
Bob. Arthur has staid behind in Heidelberg. 
Arthur has entered on his walk in life, at last; 
and, as it happens, it lies on the other side of 
the sea.” 

And then, as Bob looked, puzzled, from one to 
the other, the story of Arthur’s engagement was 
told. 

How many strange things were happening ! so 
many that, as sometimes takes place in our 
dreams, there seemed no room or time for sur- 
19 


290 


IN THE WORLD. 


prise. But, little as Bob said, it was impossible 
not to feel that Arthur had fallen at last on an 
experience which would prove his salvation, as 
Fanny and Jimmie both pointed out, in such lov- 
ing terms, Else’s perfections. 

"She is the ideal 'girl with no nonsense about 
her,’ ” said Fanny ; " or, to speak in my own 
words, instead of Mr. Sparkler’s, a true woman.” 

There was another reason why Bob found it 
hard to say much to this news about Arthur. 
His thoughts were very full of what he had to 
tell Jimmie. He looked at his brother, the glow 
of returning health on his cheek, and the quiet, 
bright look on his face which was its natural 
expression, and absolutely could not speak of the 
home anxiety about Geoffrey. It was not that he 
had not plenty of moral courage for his own 
share, but he shrank, as people with very tender 
hearts will, from seeing another person’s grief. 

At last he took counsel with Fanny as to 
whether it were best to tell Jimmie what he be- 
lieved she was hearing for the first time. To his 
surprise, Fanny listened as quietly to his words 
as if she knew precisely what he was going to 
say, and when he was silent, only said, calmly, — 


HOMEWARD BOUND. 


291 


''My dear Bob, there is not a word of what 
you have told me that Jimmie and I did not know 
already.” 

"Jimmie?” Bob exclaimed. "But, Fanny, we 
have never mentioned it in our letters.” 

" Charley wrote to me,” Fanny answered, " and 
I thought it best to tell Jim. Forgive me. Bob, 
if I did what I ought not, in taking the matter 
into my own hands ; but I knew so well what I 
should wish in my own case ! ” 

It was the only allusion Fanny had made to 
Jack, and Bob could only press her hand to ex- 
press both his thanks and sympathy. 

" How little Jimmie shows his anxiety ! ” he 
said, remembering his brother’s placid face. 

" Ah ! he has been himself all over,” said 
Fanny, brightly. "Jimmie and I have been a 
real 'Mutual Support’ Society. He would not 
say a word, dear boy, to make me feel more sad, 
and the sight of him has helped to make me 
patient and cheerful in my own trouble. And 
then, besides. Bob, you know our Jimmie, in his 
quiet, peaceful little fashion, will always look on 
the bright side of everything, and he will not 
give up his belief that there is still hope.” 


292 


IN THE WORLD. 


So not a word passed between the brothers on 
the subject Bob had so dreaded. 

Jimmie’s only sign of anxiety was shown in 
the morning, when he said, "If only w^e need not 
stay here all day to see about those trunks at the 
custom-house ! I am sure, Fanny, you are long- 
ing to be at home as much as I am.” 

"Why need you stay?” said Bob. "Am I not 
here to attend to it all? If you will have Jimmie 
as your escort for a day longer, Fanny, just take 
the Boston train this morning, and leave all the 
baggage business to me.” 

Fanny’s ready assent showed how heartily she 
shared Jimmie’s longing for home, and two hours 
later, Bob was again alone in New York. He 
had not said a word of Lillie, and Fanny had 
never suspected her presence in the city. 

"Then you have not gone, Bob?” Lillie said, 
looking up, brightly, as he entered, that after- 
noon. "I heard the steamer was in this morn- 
ing.” 

" No ; I am here for a day longer, on custom- 
house business, and ready still to help you where 
I can, Lillie.” 

" O, there is nothing to be done,” Lillie said, a 


HOMEWARD BOUND. 


293 


little sadly. ” Uncle Henry thinks (and I am 
sure I do) that aunt Bella will never get over 
this. And, indeed, she never could be happy 
without what she has lost ; so it seems almost 
selfish to wish that she might. People take 
trouble in such diflferent ways.” 

And how do you take it, Lillie?” Bob could 
not help saying. 

" Why, I must feel as if it had done me good. 
I had been drifting along in such a selfish, giddy 
sort of way this summer, that it almost seemed 
as if I needed something to wake me up, and 
make me think. This has done it. Bob, and if it 
were not for uncle Henry and aunt Bella, who are 
the real sufferers, I should feel as if it had been 
a sort of blessing to me, no matter how sad it 
seems just now. But I am glad you will be here 
till Guy comes, Bob. It makes me feel so much 
less alone.” 

"Are you so very much alone, then?” Bob 
asked, abruptly. 

Lillie looked at him for a moment, as if in sur- 
prise ; then, as suspecting his meaning, colored, 
but answered, quietly, — 

"I certainly have been. Whom have I?” 


294 


IN THE WORLD. 


And here, again, Mrs. Melville’s querulous 
voice ended the conversation, and Bob was still 
in the dark as to Steve Lenox. 

As he sat alone, in the evening, almost regret- 
ting that his custom-house duties had gone off so 
smoothly, that all causes of detention in New 
York were removed, and that he must go home 
with the morning, the door opened, and Guy 
entered. 

*'You did right in sending for me. Bob,” he 
said, when the two friends had talked the matter 
over. ” There is need of a cool head in these 
sudden crashes, and poor uncle Henry seems 
quite unmanned. It has been a hard trial for 
little Lillie, too.” 

"She says it has been a blessing,” said Bob, 
smiling. 

" Yes,” said Guy ; " there is no telling what 
may be in a person, till he has had some trouble ' 
or responsibility to bring it out. I own I have 
done Lillie injustice. I did not credit her with 
so much firmness and sweetness, till I saw her 
with aunt Bella, this afternoon.” 

And then he laughingly quoted the quaint old 
lines, — 


HOMEWARD BOUND. 


295 


ti i -pill from the straw the flail the corn doth beat, 
Until the chaff be purged from the wheat, 

Yea, till the mill the grains in pieces tear. 

The richness of the flour will scarce appear. 

So, till men’s persons great afflictions touch. 

If worth be found, their worth is not so much; 
Because^ like wheat in straw, they have not yet 
That value which, in thrashing, they may get ! * 


"But, Bob,” be went on, "we must not detain 
you any longer, when you are, of course, so anx- 
ious to see the travellers. I shall remain here 
for a few days more, and Lillie will stay while 
there is any need for her. She feels it impossible 
to leave her aunt while she is in this state.” 

"And where — ” Bob began; then left his 
hearer waiting so long for the rest of his ques- 
tion, that Guy grew impatient, and asked, — 

"Where is what?” 

% 

"On the whole,” said Bob, smiling, "I think I 
will not ask the question.” 


296 


IN THE WORLD. 


CHAPTER XIX.- 


LAST LOOKS. 



AM be^iiniino: to feel now that the time is 

O O 


JL almost come for us to say good by to each 
other, and that there must be few more last looks 
into the world which the fortunes of my four 
boys have made such a real world to me, and I 
hope, in some measure, to you, too. 

"But,” you will say, "is it all to be left so? 
Are we to be in the dark as to Geoffrey’s fate? 
Are we not to have another peep at Arthur and 
his German bride, and are you not going to give 
us a hint as to Lillie’s future?” 

All in good time. These are the very "last 
looks” which I shall ask you to take with me. 

The first shall be at the room where Jimmie 
and Geoffrey had spent together their happy 
childhood, and where, on this evening of Bob’s 
return home, the family were gathered to greet 
him. 


LAST LOOKS. 


297 


How like a dream it had seemed ! Little 
Lillie, meeting her brother with ill-concealed 
looks of joy, had begged him to let her blindfold 
him. " She had something with which she wanted 
to surprise him.” 

” Why, do you suppose I do not know as well 
as you that the travellers have got home, Lillie?” 
Bob had said. But he had yielded to her whim, 
and she had led him into this very room, which, 
since the departure of the twins on their separate 
roads in life, had been disused and shut up. 

"Where are you. Bob? ” his sister asked him. 

"I should say, from the direction, in Jimmie’s 
room. What now, Lillie? Are you going to 
show me Jimmie’s self? ” 

"And now^ Bob,” said Lillie, with more and 
more of joy, and triumph, and excitement in her 
tones; "there, give me your hand; what do you 
feel?” 

" Sheets, and a counterpane,” said Bob, keep- 
ing on with the spirit of bliud-man’s-buff ; " a pil- 
low — a head on it. What ! Is any one ill, then ? 
And is that all the pleasant surj)rise you’ve got 
for me, Lillie?” 

He stopped suddenly, for his hand had brushed 


298 


IN THE WORLD. 


against a mass of soft, clustering curls that felt 
so like Geoffrey’s own, that Bob could not say a 
word more. He stood as if bewildered, then 
pulled off the bandage, and saw Geoffrey lying 
before him ! Geoffrey himself, only so much 
paler and thinner than his wont, that Bob looked 
at him as if in truth scarce knowing v/hether it 
were he or his shadow. 

” There, Bob, there!” cried Lillie, clapping 
her hands in triumph at his hxce of wonder. 

"Well, dear old 'blind-man,’” said Geoffrey, 
with the merry voice there could be no mistake 
about ; " don’t stare a convalescent quite out of 
countenance. I am myself. Bob, if I am just 
getting over a fever.” 

And then, as they sat around the bed, the story 
was all told; how, from that wild waste of 
waters, Geoffrey and the captain had been res- 
cued by a passing ship, when, as Geoffrex^ said, 
with a shudder, "he had lost all hope of ever 
seeing home again, — when he had even lost all 
consciousness of being alive ; ” how this ship was 
outward bound for a voyage to the East Indies, 
and how they had gone, perforce, in that direc- 
tion, passing no homeward-bound vessel which 


LAST LOOKS. 


299 


they might hail for a speedier return ; how, in 
this new experience, Geoffrey had seen more of 
the world, more of the sailor’s life, more of new 
countries and people, but had nowhere found any- 
thing to compare with Captain Hawley, his gen- 
erosity and kindness ; how, at last, they were 
bound for home ("and I think,” said Geoffrey, 
with a smiling glance at his mother, "no one 
knows so well as I do now what a place home 
is”) ; how he had sickened of a fever; how, on 
board the ship, his life had been despaired of, but 
the captain had watched over him night and day, 
and, with his declaration that he would never 
show himself to Mrs. Stanley without bringing 
back her boy with him, had absolutely seemed to 
will him back to health. And so it had hap- 
pened that, when Jimmie had come home, with 
that faint little patient hope still lingering in his 
breast, his twin had been there to confirm it ! 

"And here we are,” said Geoffrey, turning his 
head on the pillow to look at Jimmie ; " and how 
strangely we seem to have changed places — Jim 
out in the world after adventures, and I lying 
here at home ! ” 

"And is it to be 'at home,’ in future, Geof- 


300 


IN THE WORLD. 


frey?” Bob asked. "Have you had enough of 
the sea, and are you ready to settle down on 
shore ?’^ 

Geoffrey shook his head. 

"I’m ready to settle down to be a sailor, Bob. 
No, no. I have been through too much of the 
rough part of a sailor’s life to give it up readily, 
now that I have got to the smoother part. I 
shall lie here, and have my full share of petting, 
while I am getting well, because, as you know, it 
is such a rarity for me to be sick, that I consider 
it rather a pleasant luxury. Then we will go 
back to our studies — Jimmie at Cambridge, and 
I at the naval school : that’s all the difference.” 

So Jimmie seemed to have learned, in going 
away, that he had the independence and self- 
reliance he so mistrusted in himself, and Geoffrey 
to have brought back from his travels the love for 
home he had fancied he lacked. Of what use are 
fresh experiences, if not to teach us new lessons 
for every-day life ? 

Our next look must be at Mr. Osborne and 
Jimmie, as they sit together, reading a letter 
which has Just come from Heidelberg. 


LAST LOOKS. 


301 


This step of Arthur’s was a sore subject to the 
old gentleman, and it was a bitter disappointment, 
that all his darling schemes for his favorite grand- 
son should end, as he contemptuously repeated, 
*'’in starvation over a drawing-board, and a match 
with a German peasant girl ! ” 

So while, to the others, these proofs of the 
awakening in Arthur of a spirit of unworldliiiess 
and self-forgetfulness were the brightest auguries 
for his future, Mr. Osborne would not be softened 
by any of Fanny’s glowing pictures of Else, but 
silently nursed his regret for the downfall of his 
ambitious hopes for Arthur. 

But who could long resist Jimmie’s loving per- 
sistence in showing the bright side? Not Mr. 
Osborne, surely. 

”We have a letter from Arthur, grandpapa,” 
he said, going up to the old man’s chair. "I am 
sure it is meant, as much, or more, for you than 
for us. Would you like to see it, sir?” 

”You may read it, if you like, Jimmie,” said 
Mr. Osborne, with the tone of studied indiffer- 
ence he was so apt to assume when Arthur was 
mentioned; "though I doubt whether there is 
anything in it which I shall care to hear.” 


302 


IN THE WORLD. 


Nothing daunted by the ungracious assent, 
Jimmie sat down, and read aloud, — 

I have thought so much of you all, since 
Jim and Fanny left ; for though when one is as 
fixed and sure that his course is the true and 
right one as I am, nothing should turn him, I 
must care very much for your opinion of this 
step of mine. I know you will be surprised, and 
even, for a time, sorry, that I should have left 
my own country for a new one — perhaps hurt 
that I should have left you so readily. I know 
that you will distrust me (I fear I have de- 
served it), and doubt if I have acted from ear- 
nest motives. And yet I cannot help hoping that 
what I say, and what you hear from Jim, may 
change all this. I am sure you will feel, when I 
say it in all earnestness, that out of the many 
times I have disappointed you, this is the first in 
which you have little cause to complain, for it is 
the first in which I have acted from anything but 
selfishness. I am sure that when I tell you how 
much we think and speak together of home and 
you all, you will not feel that I have given up 
either my country or my family; and I cannot 


LAST LOOKS. 


303 


help hoping that, as I tell you more of Else, you 
will be able to feel for her some of the love she is 
so anxious to win, so fearful she may not awaken. 
But I do not wish to speak of this engagement of 
mine as if there were anything of sacrifice about 
it. I have found out for the first time, in loving 
Else, what true happiness is. I have found out 
for the first time what an incentive it is to have 
the love of a noble, generous, true-hearted girl 
like her. I am sure I need say no more to 3"ou, 
dear father and mother, — to an}^ one of you who 
has ever known what this true love is, — to make 
you feel sure of my sincerity, and ready to give 
your gratitude — your love, when you know her 
— to the girl who has helped me where I needed 
help so much. 

Jimmie looked up almost pleadingly at his 
grandfather, as he finished, the letter. Mr. Os- 
borne did not speak, or even raise his eyes ; but, 
as the fire flickered up in a bright burst of flame, 
Jimmie saw a shining tear-drop glisten on his 
hand, where it had fallen as he listened. He 
knew, as well as if Mr. Osborne had said it, that 
Arthur’s words had touched the right chord, and 


304 


IN THE WORLD. 


that the memory of grandpapa’s own days of 
earnest, youthful love had softened away the bit- 
terness of pique and disappointment. They sat 
silent, looking at the fire; then Mr. Osborne 
said, gently, "Tell Arthur, and Else, too, when 
you write, Jimmie, that they have all my wishes 
for their happiness.” 

It was a victory, gained in Jimmie’s own sun- 
shiny fashion. 

Autumn was far advanced before Lillie re- 
turned to them, to make her home for the future 
with Guy and Sue, at Lakeside Hill. It was a 
much more attractive little face now, — the one 
which grandpapa called so fondly "his sunbeam,” 
for there was a new and grave sweetness on it 
which had dawned there since Lillie’s experience 
of responsibility, and share in the sorrows of 
others. Guy had been unwilling to urge his sis- 
ter to leave her aunt, and she had remained with 
her till there was no further need for her. Mrs. 
Melville did not die, for, hard as it was to have 
lost all the wealth in which she had bound up 
her life happiness, people do not die of disap- 
pointments, or such privations as this. Perhaps 


LAST LOOKS. 


305 


Mrs. Melville learned, in her narrower circum- 
stances, that there is something better worth 
living for than money and display; but it was, 
and would be, such a hard lesson to her, that, for 
days after she came home, Lillie still looked as 
sad as when her aunt had shed floods of tears 
over her enforced departure from New York, and 
separation from her niece. And as sympathy for 
others is always more beautifying than repining 
for ourselves, it is no wonder that Lillie’s new 
seriousness made her more attractive than ever. 

There was one subject connected with Lillie 
on which all the household felt some curiosity. 
Had that letter of aunt Bella’s been anything more 
than mere talk? If so, why did Lillie never 
speak of her engagement to Stephen Lenox? 

At last, after Prissy had in vain tried, with all 
her shrewd wits, to elicit something from un- 
conscious Lillie (" Though Prissy is a false proph- 
et as regards all of us ! ” Fanny laughingly said) , 
grandpapa innocently touched the trigger so many 
fingers had been burning to pull, and, one morn- 
ing, as Lillie sat on the arm of his chair, chatting 
away in the winning fashion that had made her 
his pet for so long, said, abruptly,— 

20 


306 


IN THE WORLD. 


" So, Lillie, when have we got to give you up?” 

" Give me up ! To whom?” asked Lillie, with 
innocent surprise. 

Ah, the little puss ! how well she acts ! ” said 
grandpapa, laughing. "You should know best, 
Lillie.” 

"Then I should say to nobody, for a long, 
long time, grandpapa.” 

" But does Mr. Lenox agree to that so readily, 
pray ? ” 

"He? O, grandpapa I” said Lillie, coloring, 
"you did not really believe that of me — did 
you?” 

" Why,” said grandpapa, taking off his specta- 
cles, and rubbing them vigorously in his confu- 
sion, "we surely heard something — didn’t we? 
or was it all an invention of Mrs. Grundy, 
Lillie?” 

Lillie shook her head. 

" It was not entirely an invention, perhaps, but — 
Grandpapa, there was a time when I was so silly 
and selfish, and cared so much about money, and 
admiration, and flattery, that I really thought 
I could marry a man I did not in the least care 
for, just to have these things. I thought that. 


LAST LOOKS. 


307 


if Mr. Lenox ever asked me to marry him, — as 
]3eople said he would, — I should do it, if only 
because I should be envied. But, when it came 
to the point, I found I had been mistaken.” 

'' And Mr. Lenox found he had been mistaken, 
too?” said Mr. Osborne, smiling. "How was 
that, Lillie?” 

"I think,” said Lillie, shaking her head, "that 
I am not so bad as I thought. I found out then, 
grandpapa, how little position, and admiration, 
and money seemed, unless there was a person 
behind it all, to love and respect I I do believe 
it is in me to do both these things with all my 
heart and soul ; but, as it may be a long time 
before I find the person who is worth it all, you 
see it will be a long time before I ask you to give 
me up to any one ! ” 

Grandpapa laughed, nothing loath to keep his 
pet ; and Sue, hearing the talk, smiled over the 
contrast between the Lillie of to-day and the 
Lillie whose ambition in life had once been so 
widely different from Fanny’s. I am not sure 
that she kept her pleasure in the change wholly 
to herself! 


308 


IN THE WORLD. 


I should like to tell you more of Fanny and 
her life in the home world, which grew even more 
dependent on her sunny face and loving pres- 
ence, till she needed no longer to ask the question 
she had once asked uncle Arthur — "What are 
girls good for ? ” — but found her best happiness 
in answering it for herself. 

I should like to tell you more of Arthur, slowly 
working his way, through love and self-forgetful- 
ness, to firmness and self-dependence ; learning, 
practically, at last, that those are most truly 
happy in the world who are not of it. 

I would gladly show you more of Bob, still 
bravely fighting his battles, with a zeal for the 
truth that would never be led astray by a desire 
for public favor, or a heart too faint to take 
shares with the unpopular side. 

But it is time my little book should find its 
way, like its heroes, into the world. I can only 
tell you, before I let the curtain drop, that Bob’s 
way in life was not to be a lonely one ; that 
he found, in due time, an earnest little heart, 
ready to share and sympathize with his cares and 
interests, and that his own unconscious upright- ' 
ness and honesty, which had helped to bring out | 


LAST LOOKS. 


309 


the genuine side of Lillie’s nature, had won her 
deepest respect, and love as well. So not a few 
years of knowledge and experience of each other 
went to the making up of this third compact, 
between Bob and Lillie ; and it was with hearts 
full of bright hope for the future, and warm love 
and trust in the present, that they took their 
first look together out into the world I 


310 


IN THE WORLD. 


CHAPTER XX. 

"all about it.” 

INCE I let the curtain fall on the little world 



of my heroes and heroines, it has been 
objected by friendly critics (belonging, surely, to 
that dear, particular school of mortals who like 
to know the wheres, and whens, and whys of 
everything under the sun) , that one of the peeps 
I gave you is not of a satisfactory kind — that, 
namely, which concerns the coming together of 
Lillie and Bob. They say that, having been pre- 
sented to the former as my heroine ; having 
learned to know the latter as my hero ; and hav- 
ing, moreover, made their way through two vol- 
umes in their company, they are surely entitled 
to hear, a little more at length, the chapter so 
interesting to most of us, in which the two pro- 
pose henceforth to travel life’s road together. 

Now, for my own part, I think there are some 


ALL ABOUT IT. 


311 


matters which should be known only to the par- 
ties concerned ; and I am sure that neither you 
nor I would have been a welcome third on that 
occasion. Besides, I have always been sceptical 
as to the surprisingly quick ears and eyes of 
writers in general, who need surely have inher- 
ited the seven-league boots, if we take them at 
their own word, and believe they were in all 
places at once, and in time to hear and see all 
that passed between their different characters. 
Nevertheless, since you have listened so long and 
so patiently to my little drama, I should be un- 
grateful indeed if I slighted any token of further 
interest in the players on my stage. So, dear 
friends, I will do my best to tell you all I know 
of the important matter, even if I trust to the 
traditional ” little bird in the air ” for my infor- 
mation. 

It happened, then, in this way. One day Bob 
came home with very bright eyes, and a large 
buff envelope protruding from his coat pocket. 
Whether or not Lillie the younger associated 
these two circumstances together, 1 cannot tell 
you ; but certain it is that she immediately re- 
quested to know what " that gorgeous document 


was. 


312 


IN THE WORLD. 


"A pleasant invitation,” was Bob’s smiling 
rejoinder. 

But as curiosity is seldom satisfied with one 
answer, and Miss Lillie was blessed with a full 
share of her great-great-grandmother’s failing, 
the mystery speedily received a more satisfactory 
solution. It seemed that, far off in the Great 
West, there were a little body of people who 
wanted to get together and make life as bright, 
and useful, and beautiful to as many of their 
fellow-mortals as they could ; who wanted to 
seek for God’s truth in the humble hope that as 
they found it, they might be able to work it into 
their lives, and worship him by their actions no 
less than by their tongues. And they had decided 
that nobody could help them better in this effort 
of theirs than the young man with the clear, 
steady eyes, the beaming face, and the hearty, 
straightforward manner, who had spent a few 
days among them during the last summer, and 
had spoken to them so earnestly in the little 
church. So they had sent to ask Bob Stanley to 
come and teach them all he could, and learn all 
they could teach him ; and this, or something like 
it, was what the buff envelope contained. 


ALL ABOUT IT. 


313 


When it had been read, all, of course, looked 
interrogatively at Bob, as people do when they 
want to get at another’s intentions without the 
necessity of questioning him. 

shall like it,” said Bob, heartily. "It is all 
new there, and I like to begin at the beginning.” 

" And it’s so satisfactory,” said Fanny, " to do 
things for one’s self — not find them already 
done, so that there’s nothing left but to sit down 
and fold one’s hands ! ” 

"Yes,” murmured Jimmie, with a quick sensi- 
tiveness for his dear Harvard, who had lavished 
her benefits so plenteously on his brother, " after 
one has got all the good the older places and the 
wiser people can teach him.” 

"So jolly,” said Geoffrey, "to go off to a fresh, 
stirring, wide-awake place, and have all the 
pleasure of coming back to the dear old home for 
a change ! ” 

"I don’t mean to miss you at all. Bob,” said his 
sister, reflectively. "O, you dear, I don’t mean 
that ; but you know it will be delightful to go out 
to the prairies for an unsophisticated atmosphere, 
when I am fairly surfeited with the conventional- 
isms of society.” 


314 


IN THE WORLD. 


” Wait till you’re asked, ma’am,” said Geoffrey, 
while the others laughed aloud. Lillie was just 
at that stage of her teens and her school-days 
when polysyllables are the readiest utterance. 

"Why should I wait for that?” said the little 
lady, bridling, with some dignity. "I don’t need 
invitations from Bob.” 

"But there are generally two parties in a 
household,” said Geoffrey, mischievously; "who 
do you suppose will be the head of Bob’s estab- 
lishment? ” 

"It isn’t at all improbable that I may be my- 
self,” said Lillie, quietly; "I always meant to be 
Bob’s housekeeper, some day.” 

"No, no; not without our leave. Pussy,” said 
her father, smiling; "we’ve no mind to part 
with our one girl, because our boys are all 
going.” 

There was one person who had made no com- 
ment on the contents of the buff envelope, and 
taken no share in the general discussion which 
followed its perusal. This was the other Lillie, 
who had sat quite silent while the rest expressed 
their opinions so freely ; and yet, when Bob read 
the letter, he had several times glanced towards 


ALL ABOUT IT. 


315 


that very corner where Lillie was seated, as if 
her sentiments were by no means the last which 
he desired to hear. Probably she was less inter- 
ested than he had wished ; for it was not till Mr. 
Stanley had finished speaking, that a very non- 
chalant little voice remarked, — 

"I always did dislike the West so much! I 
mean the idea of it, for Pve never been there in 
my life.” 

But why, Lillie?” said Fanny, facing round 
immediately, as she always did when interested, 
or eager; "why should you dislike it?” 

" O, I don’t know ; everything is so rough and 
unfinished, and there is so little culture and re- 
finement. I can’t imagine any one who is used 
to our society being happy there.” 

"But what a sweeping statement, Lillie I” said 
Fanny. "Besides, how would new places ever 
grow to be anything else, if nobody would go to 
them ? ” 

"1 don’t like new places,” said Lillie. 

"America, for instance,” suggested Geoffrey. 

"But I didn’t come over in the Mayflower,” 
said Lillie. "I wouldn’t have done it, on any 
account. I don’t like deserts and wild Indians.” 


316 


IN THE WORLD. 


"But I shan’t see either, Lillie,” said Bob. 

"I am not going into a wilderness. is quite 

a city, and ten years hence it will be twice as 
large as it is now.” 

"O, will it? ” said Lillie. 

" You would be surprised if you could see how 
many advantages they have there,” said Bob, 
going on very eagerly, though his auditor seemed 
far more engrossed in her work than in his 
words. 

"O, should I?” said Lillie again. "Then, ten 
years hence, they will be far ahead of us, I sup- 
pose. 'Dear me, what a tiresome knot ! ” 

I am afraid Lillie’s lack of enthusiasm 'was 
rather a damper on the brightness of Bob’s pros- 
pects, for he did not again allude to them that 
evening. 

We grumble about our northern climate, our 
long, snowy winters, our tardy, chilly springs, 
and summers brief and burning ; but surely our 
autumns should make some amends to us — the 
golden October days, when the air seems all sun- 
shine, the trees stand out in their many-colored 
dresses against the clear blue sky, and every- 


ALL ABOUT IT. 


317 


thing seems full of life, and energy, and joy- 
fulness. 

"Come,” said Geoflrey, on just such a day, 
" it’s a sin to mope this perfect weather away in 
town. I don’t know whether mother, and Fanny 
Osborne, and Pussy-cat are making a trunkful 
of keepsakes for you. Bob, but I should think so, 
from the way they stick to their needles. I’ll tell 
3"ou what we’ll do. I haven’t many more chances 
of fun on shore. Let’s forget we are ^rowino: 
such a crowd of old fogies, and go out to Lake- 
side Hill, and have just such a frolic as we used 
to have. The nuts are all ripe there, and I’m not 
too old, for one, to want some. Come, who’s for 
Lakeside? Unless I am much mistaken, or Lillie 
Dalton’s grown fonder of sewing than she used to 
be, she’ll be gladder to see ns than to stay at 
home stitching any amount of love and remem- 
brance into handkerchiefs and cravats for you. 
Bob ! ” 

As Geoffrey would never be anything but a 
boy, whoever else might turn old fogy, — a boy, 
moreover, as eager for fun and frolic as any in 
school-boy jackets, — and as there were very few 
wishes expressed by this well-grown family pet 


318 


IN THE AVORLD. 


which were not immediately acceded to, the party 
Avere speedily en route for Lakeville, — as speed- 
ily as shade-hats, sun-umbrellas, and other prep- 
arations for a day in the woods, or on the pond, 
could be got together. 

Probably Lillie Dalton still justified Geoffrey’s 
expectations, and was not fond of work under 
any form. There was a certain set of old-fash- 
ioned gold purse-rings which she had found in 
grandpapa’s desk, and coaxed away from him, 
and a certain green silk purse in process of cro- 
cheting, which got on so very, very sloAvly, that I 
almost think it must have been associated with 
some unpleasant thought in Lillie’s mind, so 
readily Avas it abandoned for anything else that 
offered. That purse was meant as a parting 
present to Bob, but it was thrown aside with 
great alacrity Avhen the meny croAvd appeared in 
the many-tinted avenue before the window at 
Avhich the little maiden sat crocheting. 

^'Go? Yes; of-^jourse I’ll go,” said Lillie, in 
answer to Geoffrey’s proposal. ”I’m tired to 
death moping in doors alone, and I Avas just 
wishing for some of you.” 

And Lillie, flying up stairs, speedily reap- 


ALL ABOUT IT. 


319 


peared in the hall, a broad straw hat tied down 
with blue ribbons over her curls, buff gauntlets 
pulled over her pretty little hands, and the green 
silk ball of that tiresome purse thrust deep into 
her pocket. 

The hill, which sloped away so gently behind 
the old brown stone house, was thickly clothed 
with chestnut woods, whose fading, yellow leaves 
scarcely hid the ripe nuts, clinging as desperately 
to the half-parted lips of their prickly cases, as 
if they felt how near their end was approaching. 
Here and there a scattered maple lit up the grove 
with its blaze of flame-color, and at the base of 
the hill lay the little pond, as blue as in midsum- 
mer, though the lilies with which, in August, it 
was so thickly studded, had left only unsightly 
pads as their tokens. Par across the woods, on 
the other side of the valley, the hills rose against 
the clear sky with almost a purple bloom on their 
summits, and there was not a sound or motion in 
the little grove, except the occasional "Caw, caw,” 
of some distant crow, lamenting over the fallen 
cornfields, the tap, tap, of a woodpecker, or the 
light-footed sally of some squirrel, who whisked 
nimbly over the gray stone wall, darted on a nut, 


320 


IN THE WORLD. 


and was gone. But, as the merry party entered 
the wood, loaded with baskets and nutting-poles, 
and sending their ringing voices and laughter 
before them, these sounds disappeared. The 
squirrel did not so much as show a hair of his 
feathery tail beyond his hole, and the woodpecker 
ceased his tapping to listen to the crackling foot- 
steps coming so briskly over the dead leaves. 

"Look there, cried Geoffrey, with a prelimi- 
nary shake of the nearest tree, which sent the 
nuts rattling down in a smart shower on the 
heads of those below; "isn’t that a rich harvest? 
Fill your baskets, and let’s have something to 
show for our expedition. Picnics, you know, are 
generally said to be profitless things — this shall 
be an exception.” 

Geofirey’s mood communicated itself to the 
rest. Bob scaled the tree, and shook the lighter 
branches ; the others assaulted the sturdier 
boughs with their sticks ; and the girls, with 
laughing efibrts to avoid the pelting on the crowns 
of their straw hats, picked up the shining nuts 
as they dropped thick and fast on the grass. • 

"Why, Lillie,” said her little namesake, as that 
unlucky purse came ravelling out of Lillie’s 


ALL ABOUT IT. 


321 


pocket at the end of one of her gauntlets, is 
that all you’ve got done? You’ll never finish it 
in time, if you mean it for Bob.” 

"Very likely not,” said Lillie, with the shade 
of vexation that hapless piece of work always 
called up ; "I can’t help it if I don’t.” 

"O, bother the knitting,” said Geofii’ey, drop- 
ping his pole, breathless, and pushing back the 
clustering curls from his hot forehead ; " I hope 
you didn’t bring that to the picnic. Come, Fan 
and Lillie, let’s go down to the boat. We’ll 
leave Bob and Jimmie and the rest to see to the 
fire and the spread, and float about a little on that 
deliciously lazy pond. I feel just like a glorious 
lounge, after my exertions with this battering- 
ram ! ” 

Lillie, who had so far been Geoflfrey’s walking 
companion, assented at once, and Fanny, who 
had been strolling along with Bob, followed, with 
a smiling shrug of the shoulders, and roguish 
glance at the latter. Fanny was one of those 
people who know everybody’s secrets — a fact 
whioh she owed, I think, more even to the ready 
sympathies which invited confidence, than to the 
sharp eyes which saw things for themselves. 

21 


322 


IN THE WORLD. 


The scene from the boat, as they slowly pulled 
out over the lily-pads, was a pretty one ; the 
fire, just beginning to crackle under the auspices 
of the party left on the bank, the scattered poles 
and baskets, the bright foliage, and, far up on 
the slope, Guy and Sue, just coming in sight over 
the brow of the hill, bearing substantial additions 
to the feast. Robin pranced before them, as 
active as his namesake, the nimble sprite, Robin 
Goodfellow, his red stockings forming an addi- 
tional speck of color in the landscape, and little 
"Miss Toddlekins” laboriously trotted through 
the long grass, holding by her mamma’s skirt. 

Geoffrey, the better to enjoy his "glorious 
lounge,” had resigned the oars to the two girls, 
and lay back in the bow of the boat, surveying 
their executions with a lazy smile, and looking 
like a young Bacchus, his temples crowned with 
a wreath of grape-vine leaves, which Lillie had 
woven as they walked along, while his straw hat, 
cast carelessly down in the bottom of the boat, 
lay beside him. 

Fanny rowed as vigorously as she did every- 
thing else, her cheeks glowing and her dark eyes 
sparkling under the broad, shady hat, while her 


ALL ABOUT IT. 


323 


companion pulled a much less steady stroke, 
stopping to examine the blisters on her little 
hands, with a reproachful look at the lazy figure 
in the bow, or glancing over her shoulder at 
the party on shore. 

“ ‘ Tears, idle tears, I know not' what they mean, 

Tears from the depths of some divine despair 
Rise to the heart and gather to the eyes 
In looking on the happy autumn fields. 

And thinking of the days that are no more ! ’ ” 

murmured mischievous Fanny, who had noted 
the regretful glances. 

"What are you saying. Fan?” said Geoffrey; 
but just then Lillie, by a vexed exclamation, 
called the general attention to her oar, which 
was just floating away beyond its wielder’s 
grasp. 

"What shall I do?” she exclaimed; "how 
could I have dropped it? Geoffrey, do try to 
get it. I am sure your arm is long enough to 
reach.” 

But Geoffrey, declaring they had undertaken 
to "paddle their own canoe,” entirely refused to 
exert himself, and looked on, more amused than 
ever, as Fanny vigorously sculled in pursuit, or 


324 


IN THE WORLD. 


pulled the boat round and round, while the pro- 
voking oar steadilj^ drifted down the stream. 

It’s no use,” said Lillie, looking half inclined 
to cry, as Fanny paused at last, breathless with 
her fruitless endeavors. ”How shall we ever get 
ashore ? I hear them calling us — ” 

” Signal in token of distress ! ” said the ex- 
asperating Geoffrey, fluttering his handkerchief 
from the blade of the useless oar, while he still 
lay at his listless length in his seat. 

"I’m not beaten yet!” said Fanny, springing 
up with an energy that almost capsized the little 
boat. "There, Lillie, stand up at your end, and 
hold a corner of this shawl. Don’t you feel what 
a breeze comes from that quarter? There I now 
we shall scud along like a full-rigged merchant- 
man ! Don’t you admire my seamanship, Jefl ?” 

And away they went across the pond, with 
laughing encomiums from Geoffrey, and many a 
shriek from Lillie, who was decidedly timorous 
in her insecure perch, and not a little inclined to 
let fall her corner of the extempore sail. In 
fact, so much faster did they go than they had 
calculated, that before they knew it, they were 
aground in a thick lily-bed, where the missing 


ALL ABOUT IT. 


325 


oar, arrived before them, was already safely 
lodged, and Bob, having come down, in answer 
to their signal of distress, was waiting to help 
them ashore. 

" I shall never sail again with Geoffrey for bal- 
last ! ” said Fanny, springing lightly ashore, with 
the aid of Bob’s proffered hand. ** Come, you 
provoking boy, I shall take you into custody im- 
mediately, and make you do all the menial offices 
of our cooking ! ” 

And off she led him, however reluctant, leav- 
ing Bob and Lillie together. 

But what was the matter with Lillie to-day? 
Generally so light-footed and graceful, she had 
sprung ashore so carelessly that she had a wet 
foot for her pains, and her pretty skirt was 
splashed with water. 

"Never mind,” said she, beginning to walk 
quickly, with a vexed air, after Fanny and Geof- 
frey ; " I was never so clumsy in my life, I be- 
lieve ! Don’t say anything about it, please — 
it’s nothing I ” 

" Suppose we go off, and dry the dress in the 
sun,” Bob laughingly suggested ; and he led her 
off, by quite a different little wood-path, to a 


326 


IN THE WORLD. 


cleared space, where the sunbeams lay dancing 
bright!}^ on the dry grass. 

But here a new misfortune developed itself. 
That everlasting purse, pulled out of Lillie’s 
jDocket again, had been following merrily in the 
wake of the boat, and now trailed, limp and 
water-stained, behind its fair crocheter as she 
walked. 

"There, it’s all spoiled!” said Lillie, taking it 
up as they threw themselves down on the grass. 
" And I meant it for you. I shall have nothing 
to give you. Bob.” 

" Never mind,” said Bob ; " I shall have enough 
keepsakes.” 

Then, as Lillie still bent her head over the 
meshes, pulling out the drenched silk with no 
very mollified air, he added, — 

"There is no danger of my forgetting home, 
Lillie, even if I had none to remind me.” 

" I am not so sure of that,” said Lillie, shaking 
her head. "That^ what people always say, but 
they are sure to change in a new atmosphere.” 

" Do you think, then, that I shall forget so 
easily?” said Bob, half amused at the vehement 
conviction in Lillie’s tone. 


ALL ABOUT IT. 


327 


" You think not, now.” 

Then why are you so sure I shall change ? ” 
Because you are so glad to go.” 

" Everybody is glad to be at work, I suppose,” 
said Bob. 

" But you are so glad your work is to bo in just 
that — that far-off, rough, new 'gXixcc . ! ” 

” I am glad it is tg be in a new place, certainly,” 
said Bob; "because it is so much easier to start 
afresh in everjThing — not have to work on other 
people’s foundations. But I did not say I was 
glad it was far off — did I?” 

" You are so glad to leave everything here ! ” 
said Lillie, carefully spreading out the bespat- 
tered front breadth of her dress in the sun. 

" I don’t think I said so,” said Bob. 

There was a long pause — so long that that 
woodpecker, tapping in a tree close by, had time 
to grow decidedly monotonous, and the crickets, 
piping in the grass, became actually ear-piercing 
in their shrillness. It was a silence so long that 
there is no telling how much longer it might not 
have lasted, if Bob, looking earnestly at Lillie, 
as she sat with her broad hat pulled down over 
her face, had not suddenly noticed a singular 


328 


IN THE WORLD. 


phenomenon. One — two — three little drops, 
which certainly had not been there a few minutes 
before, lay glistening on the pretty gray dress 
just in the place which Lillie had been so care- 
fully holding in the sunbeams I 

Bob got up from the grass and walked to the 
opening in the trees, through which he could catch 
a glimpse of the party still l^uusily employed over 
the fire — turned, and came back so suddenly, 
that Lillie had no time to avert her face, and the 
eyes W'hich she had raised to follow Bob’s mo- 
tions, with the tear-drops still glistening on their 
lashes, were quite visible. 

"No, I never said so,” repeated Bob; "so far 
from it that I am constantly trying to persuade 
myself that I needn’t leave some things — or rather, 
people ; so far from glad that I am often very 
unreasonably unhappy in vain regrets that I 
must.” 

"Why vain?” said Lillie. 

"Because I’ve been told so.” 

"Who told you?” said Lillie, lifting her eyes 
quite regardless of the two great drops which 
chased each other down her cheeks. 

"You yourself.” 


ALL ABOUT IT. 


329 


"You had no right to believe what any one 
said of me. It wasn’t any one’s concern.” 

" Not when that some one was yourself? Not 
when that some one said she could not imagine 
being happy in such a difterent atmosphere from 
this?” 

" You never asked me if I could,” said Lillie. 

" But you said you could not imagine any one 
who was used to our society being happy there. 
How could I ask you, then?” 

" I was speaking of said Lillie, naively ; 

then, softly, while the smiles would play in and 
out of her tear-stained cheeks, "wasn’t that such 
a very different thing? ” 

There was another silence for a minute or 
two, while a thrush in the trees over their heads 
trilled out a full, rich note. For aught I know, 
he may have been the identical " little bird ” who 
repeated all this to me I 

"Then I may ask you, Lillie?” It seemed a 
very superfluous thing to say, because at the mo- 
ment Bob was holding one of Lillie’s hands, and 
looking at her with so very bright a smile that 
the idea of suspense or uncertainty seemed quite 
out of the question. 


330 


IN THE WORLD. 


" If you think me worth while,” said Lillie, in 
an odd little tone ; then, lifting her eyes again to 
Bob’s face, and speaking more seriously, — 

"O, Bob, dear, I know I’m not half you think 
me, hut I do mean to grow to be more, and you 
will help me. I shall try so hard to be good 
enough for you, and to make you happy ! ” 
^'You won’t have to try very hard, Lillie,” 
said Bob ; and I think his face showed it. 

Indeed, it showed so much to Jimmie, who 
looked through the trees just at that moment, to 
call the missing pair to lunch, that he discreetly 
turned down another path, making the woods 
echo with their names ; and, as the lovers stepped 
down the sunny little glade to the shore, fancy- 
ing their secret still secure, it was so plainly 
written in their happy faces, that every one of 
the waiting party read it at once as they ap- 
proached ; and it is, perhaps, after all, no treason, 
if I repeat it to any one who cares to listen I 


P O U JL, A. E, BOOKS 


THE LITTLE BAREFOOT. 

A TALE, BY 

BERTHOLD AUERBACH. 

Translated from the German by Eliza Buckminster Lee. With four ’ 
full -page, and numerous smaller Original Illustrations. 





Price, $1.25. 


“ Little Barefoot ” is a very quaint and touching story of 
the adventures and struggles of two orphan children, named 
Amrie, and Hami her brother. The translation is very graceful, 
and just enough of the German tone and coloring are retained to 
add to the charm of the book. The main points of the story are 
to show how self-reliance, a resolute spirit, and, most of all, a 
cheerful faith in God, finally triumph over all adversity, and 
establish a character which commands love and respect, and is a 
constant blessing. 

“ This is a beautiful little story by Auerbach, soft and hazy as an Indian 
summer; a story on which in lazy mood you would float off’ into cloud- 
ls.nd, and forget the actual toiling world. And yet there are pictures in it 
as sharply and clearly drawn as any sketched by the engraver’s hand. 
“ Barefoot,” thougli living a life of the strangest thoughts and fancies, is 
yet one of the most actual and practical of bodies, by a downright, inde- 
pendence and unswerving honesty winning her way in the world. Though 
the schools do but little for her, nature and the sharp realities of her lot 
teach her a deep insight and wisdom, to which few who are more favored 
attain.” — Journal and Messenger, Cincinnati, Ohio. 

“ It is one of those delightful little German stories of woman’s self-deny- 
ing virtue which, like Hans Christian Andersen’s, will be read with pleas- 
ure by children, and with little less pleasure and no small profit by their 
grandsires.” — Bound Table, N. Y. 

“ This little story has long been recognized as one of the best of juvenile 
books. It teacJies a pure and noble lesson, and is written with the grace 
and beauty of style that characterizes so much of the juvenile literature 
of Germany. The illustrations are drawn with skill and true artistic 
feeling, and put to shame the feeble drawings with which American books 
are too frequently illustrated.” — N. Y. Independent. 


2 


Popular Boohs, 


JOSEPH IN THE SNOW. 

By BERTHOLD AUERBACH, 

[Author of “ The Little Barefoot.” Illustrated with 24 Original designs. 

Price, $1.35. 

Auerbach has a high reputation in Germany as a writer of 
stories designed for popular amusement and instruction, es- 
pecially those adapted to youthful minds. He constructs the 
most charming fictions out of the incidents of common life, and 
while he delights the imagination with his simple and natural 
story, he aims at the same time to catch the sympathies of the 
heart, and inspire it with a love of virtue. 

“ This is one of those simple and beautiful talcs, in the production of 
which the German novelists specially excel, and which have given Auer- 
bach so wide a popularity. The story is naturally and gracefully told, 
and it has been translated in a manner which leaves nothing to be desired. 
We have seldom seen a translation which was characterized by greater 
smoothness, dignity of expression, and manifest fidelity. The volume is 
embellished with numerous engravings and initial letters, from original 
designs, by Miss Greene, many of which are of great merit.” — Christian 
Iteyister. 

“ ‘ Joseph in the Snow,’ published by Horace B. Fuller, Boston, is a 
story translated from the German of Berthold Auerbach, the well-known 
and favorite author, whoso admirable novel, ‘ On the Heights,’ has been 
so favorably receiveil in this country. It is doubtful whether ‘Joseph in 
the Snow ’ should be considered a juvenile story or not. The hero is a 
child, and upon this child the chief interest of the narrative concentrates, 
but in many respects it is written for mature minds. It is a graphic, sim- 
ple, and touching tale of unusual power, that may be read with pleasure by 
old and young alike.” — N. Y, Evening Post, 

— ■ ♦o* 

The Ferry Boy and the Financier. 

By a well-known author. 12mo. Illustrated. 

Price, $1.50. 

“The Ferry Boy and the Financier” is a narrative, en- 
tirely authentic^ of the boy-life of Hon. S. P. Chase, now Chief 
Justice of the United States. It is the only life of one of our 
most distinguished statesmen, and is at once entertaining and 
instructive. 

“ The perusal of the first chapter compels the perusal of the second, 
and so on until the volume is finished, and pronounced unsurpassed of ita 
class.” — Independent^ A". Y. 


Popular Boohs. 


3 


THE WELL-SPENT HOUR. 

A STORY FOR GIRLS. 

By MRS. FOLLEN. 

Illustrated. Price, $1.^5. 

The Well-spent Hour is a wholesome, simply written little 
story, old-fashioned in its matter of fact, tone, and sober account 
of a little girl’s life, into which no thread of romance is woven. 

“ ‘ The Well-Spent Hour ’ is written in Mrs. Follen’s happiest vein. It 
is full of touches of nature, impressive with a serene wisdom, and while it 
makes the older men and women bend to catch the suggestive teachings 
of childhood, it takes childliood gently by the hand and leads it up to 
maturer thinking and a higher plane of life.” — Morning Star. 

“ It has just the qualities needed to counteract the intense, melodramatic, 
‘ smart,’ slipshod, and otherwise injurious style of writing, which charac- 
terizes so many of the popular juveniles of the present day .” — Sunday 
School Gazette. 

“ This is a well printed, finely illustrated, and an admirable child’s book. 
It is almost impossible to over-estimate the value of this class of books, 
which inculcate a sound morality in a very interesting manner.” — Morning 
Herald, Philadelphia. 


Morning Glories, and Other Stories, 

A delightful volume of Tales in Prose and Verse. 

By Miss LOUISA M. ALCOTT, 

Author of “ Little Women,” &c. 1 vol. 16mo. Beautifully illustrated 
with original designs, by Miss Greene. 

Price, $1.35. 

These stories are very admirable, both in their substance, 
style, and lessons. They catch the attention of the young by 
their extra human qualities, and are not likely to mislead 
either the fancy^ judgment, or heart. 

“ The lessons of all these stories are noble, the imagery charming, and 
the writing fresh and original.” — Anti-Slavery Standard. 

“ Miss Alcott is a woman of genius, and whatever she writes is sure to 
have both merit and attraction. Both these qualities appear conspicuously 
in this collection of stories and poems. They are admirably constructed 
to interest children, and there is material in them for the entertainment of 
the older class of readers as well. The book is to be recommended in 
every aspect, for the publisher has made it one of the handsomest of holi- 
day volumes by the taste he has shown in its illustrations, paper, printing 
and hiiiding.’’ — Roxbury Journal. 


4 


Popular Books. 


THE FARMER BOY, 

And Sow He Became Commander-in^ Chief. 

By uncle JUVINELL. 

With an introduction by Wilt.iam M. Thayer, author of “ Pioneer Boy ’’ 
etc. 12mo. With original illustrations. $1.50. 

This is, perhaps, the most delightful life of Washington fo’ 
the young ever written. The incidents are invested with a ne^ 
interest by the graceful style of the narrative ; and the particu- 
lars of the youthful hero’s education and early training are so 
presented as to be doubly valuable in helping the young reader 
to the formation of correct habits, and the construction of a 
manly character. 


Fairy Bells, and What They Tolled Us, 

Translated from the German by Miss Lander, author of “ Spectacles for 
Young Eyes.’’ Beautifully illustrated. 

Price, $1.35. 

“ These tales, as the title indicates, are from the German, and have the 
fresliness, originality, and quaintness that usually characterize German 
stories. The volume is neatly and tastefully bound, and will form a beau- 
tiful present for the holidays.” — Springfield Union. 

“ ‘ Fairy Bells ’ ring so sweetly and merrily that we have been charmed 
by their harmonies. They are admirably translated, and Mr. Fuller has 
published them in beautiful style, with graceful illustrations and superior 
paper. The getting up is sumptuous, and 4;he volume is one of the most 
acceptable for children’s holiday gifts that we have yet seen.” — City Item^ 
Philadelphia. 

“ The stories are well constructed, the translation is good (much better 
than that given to most of the German theological treatises that come to 
us in an English dress), and the material dress of the book is elegant.” — 
Christian Advocate, N. Y. 


THE PIONEER BOY, 

And How He Became Bresident. 


By WM. M. THAYER, 

Author of the “ Youth’s History of the Rebellion.” ^2mo. Illustrated, 
(A new edition in press.) 


These books are sold by boot^ll^,^ iftled, postpaid, on 
receipt of the price by the publislWl 


HORACE B. FULLER, 

14 Bromaeld Street, Boston. 










if 








, cP' .‘ . 

/NJ-v ^ « iC^ fLl 

® -i'l '7^ >■ 





•> Ol’ 

V - . • 

\’ 9^ ' * « / ^ .0‘ ^ 

!' aV ^ ^ 



-s «\V tP- ^ '» 

: ■%, A- 

. t> ^ ^ -4 a > 


* 0 


,0 o 

\ >*'» ✓> 
0 ■ o„ 

'^^.. ‘..'* ,v° .••,,% 


» « )g 

® '7% >- Q!; . 

> jj- ^ 




><.'''' . \ ^ . , g ^ 0 , V 

.A' « ' ' ® ^ o r\^ r ^ ^ ^ /) %<> 

■" '“^o 0^ “ \ 

<* ^*5^' 




aX- ^ 

(^V «: 


^ R ">1 ^ ^ yv'^" 

* A -'^ * y®®<» . 


'.I 


^ O V ' ✓ 

^ < cS:S\\' 



0 



'. -^A V^’ .' 

^ '^ -v 

^ Q I '0' 

a 0“ c* 



0 


" '^o 

e^' o ^ ^ 
- 

V#' 






' ' '^^ % cP’ . 

.' mm^ ' ■ .■'o o'* : %: 



^ 0 » K " ^ 

C 




.. 0 , 

^ ^ --t r^ <l 


> 

^ *, 'W - 0 C- ^ 

o ^ 1 ^ 'Sr 

'>0 0 ^ . 
\'‘ nr 0 ’* >#■ , . „ ^ %■ 







" c ^ > ^^^inpiii^^ o ,A^' 

^ ^ ' 0 o X 

0 N C . ^ * if ^ 0 ' 

L'tV '' /^W/ 2 ^^n. u '>'^ C^ 



'f^ ' '^O o’* : 

^ ^ 

'''^ > V V ^ ^ 

<■ iOL^ '^j- f' s c 

%'"'* 0 ^ s^ 








LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 






